


Not With A Bang

by CaptainoftheUSSTardis



Category: Downton Abbey, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Fusion, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, F/M, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Pre-Original Trilogy, Pre-Rogue One, Star Wars AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2020-10-28 10:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20777234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainoftheUSSTardis/pseuds/CaptainoftheUSSTardis
Summary: (Star Wars AU) The noble House Crawley rules the peaceful Inner Rim planet of Grantham and has so far been free from the tyranny of the Empire in the sixteen years since the fall of the Republic. But after the mysterious deaths of the two Crawley heirs, and the arrival of the new heir, it becomes harder for the Crawleys to guard their rebellious secrets.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovely readers, and thank you for tuning into this new story. I've been working on this one for quite some time, and since the Downton Abbey movie just came out (it was amazing!), I thought it was finally time to publish this story. I'm so excited to share it you.
> 
> I would be remiss if I did not say that this story is inspired by Rap541's "Panem Abbey" here on Archive Of Our Own - an amazing work that places Downton Abbey in the world of Panem and the Hunger Games. Please give that story a read, it's spectacular.
> 
> Once again, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

_A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…_

* * *

Lady Sybil Crawley's blood was boiling. It took all her strength not to glare at the Imperial officers surrounding the memorial sight, but somehow she managed to get through the priest's lengthy sermon without betraying her anger. She was standing in between her mother, who had a hand supportively on her shoulder, and her elder sister Edith who dabbed tears from her eyes with her silk kerchief. It was Edith who had loved Cousin Patrick, not her eldest sister Mary who had been practically engaged to him. _She _didn't weep for their cousins. Instead, Mary only stood stoically, staring straight ahead at the engraved stone that read:

_James Crawley_

_And_

_Patrick Crawley,_

_Beloved father, and son_

Perhaps, Sybil thought as her family started to put their flowers against the stone, Mary was just as angry as she was. But if that were true, she didn't show it. Her many years in the Imperial Senate had obviously paid off in more ways than one.

As her father placed the lily against the memorial stone, Sybil snuck one glance at the Imperials watching. Most looked bored, like they had better places to be. Others looked discomforted by the whole thing. The Crawleys of Grantham were one of the only noble houses to still bury their dead, and even if there were no bodies to bury, the Imperials still stood amidst a tradition so different from their own. Her mother felt her tense in anger and squeezed her shoulder comfortingly in response. They placed their lilies against the stone together, and Sybil kept her gaze for a few beats longer.

They didn't even have her cousins' bodies for a proper burial. They had been destroyed during the attack on their ship – a marauder attack, according to the Empire. But Sybil knew that was a lie. _Her family _knew that was a lie. James and Patrick Crawley had been on an Imperial cargo vessel with a small crew – they had been on a mission for the Rebellion. Sybil hadn't been told where exactly her cousins had been traveling to, only that the Empire had found them. The Empire had found them and destroyed them. And now they were here, at their memorial service, offering their _sincere _condolences to her family.

The whole situation made Sybil feel sick.

The last of the flowers had been placed against the memorial stone, and the ceremony officially concluded. The guests started to mill about, many approaching her parents to offer their sympathies. Sybil felt as if she were suffocating and was in a dire need for air. She started to make her back towards the estate, but Mary caught her before she could make it very far.

"Where are you going?" She asked. Her voice was quiet yet laced with anxiousness.

"I need some air," Sybil said, clenching and unclenching her fists. "I can't…"

"Sybil," Mary said, taking her hand and moving close so that only a few inches separated them. "You can't leave yet. Wait until the rest of them are gone."

"How can you bear it?" They were far enough away from the guests that Sybil didn't need to whisper, but she did all the same. "How can you bear to stand there and listen to them pretend they didn't murder our cousins?" The words came out a strangled sob.

Thankfully, Mary didn't tell her not to say such things in a public place, like her mother would have. "I can't bear it, Sybil, but I manage because our family's safety depends on it. "

Sybil nodded, because of course her sister was right. She couldn't let her emotions get the better of her, not when they would have so many consequences. The slightest slip up could make them a target of the Empire, as if they weren't already after James and Patrick.

When they got back to the memorial site, Sybil recognized the middle-aged uniformed man talking with her parents. It was their system's Imperial Governor, Jonas Callen, no doubt saying what a tragedy it is to lose not one but two heirs to marauders. As Mary made her way over to join the conversation, Sybil couldn't help but wonder if Governor Callen knew the true cause of her cousins' deaths. Tearing her gaze from them, she walked over and sat on one of the wooden benches. It was the furthest place from the officers she could be without actually leaving the memorial site.

Edith was still dabbing tears on her cheeks, and talking with Sir Anthony Strallan, Grantham's minister of education. Strallan was dull as a brick, but at least Edith managed to find some comfort talking to him. Sybil gazed around the crowd, hoping to find Tom, but he was nowhere in sight. He'd been present for the memorial service, she was sure of it, but somehow he managed to disappear. He was probably doing some maintenance work for the _Verdant _or one of their other vessels, and Sybil felt a twinge of jealously. It didn't matter than the Captain of the _Verdant _didn't stay to greet her father's guests, but of course, it mattered if she did.

Most of the Imperial officers were talking quietly among themselves. Some had wine, other just had their gloved hands folded neatly behind their backs. Every few minutes, one of them was bound to give her a quick glance, but Sybil didn't give them anything to look at. To the Empire, she was a girl grieving a terrible loss. She wanted to know what they were talking about, if they were discussing her family, or if they had already moved on to matters concerning their ever-growing tyranny.

"I'm sorry for your loss, my lady," a man said, sitting down beside her.

At first, Sybil stiffened thinking it was an Imperial officer, but it was only Senator Bail Organa – a close friend of her family's. She nodded politely. "Thank you, Senator."

"I spoke to Lord and Lady Grantham already, before Governor Callen had a chance to corner them," the senator continued. He was dressed in black senator's robes, the colour that represented mourning on Grantham.

"And Mary?" Sybil asked.

"Lady Mary seems to be… in shock by the whole thing."

Sybil's brow furrowed. She would have never thought Mary could be shocked by anything.

"Some of the Imperials think she needs time away from the Senate," Bail continued. "To be with her family."

Despite herself, Sybil scoffed at the prospect. "Knowing her, she'll throw herself into her work just to cope."

"It is a tremendous loss," he commented. _For the Rebellion, _he meant, not just for her family.

"I still don't understand why both of them insisted on going. They could have completed their mission successfully if only one of them had gone." The words were dangerous, but she said them anyway.

"I'm sure Patrick insisted on going as well."

Sybil nodded. Patrick was always the stubborn one (not unlike Mary), who had insisted on joining his father for their mission. And look what had happened.

It almost came out, right there and then. All of Sybil's anger towards the Empire, all of the words she wanted to say. But of course, she didn't say them. Instead, Sybil could only cling to the true meaning behind their conversation.

"Please give my regards to Lady Edith and the Dowager Countess," he said before standing from the bench.

"Of course," Sybil said, and Senator Organa was done, his dark robes flowing behind him as he weaved through the crowd.

It took longer than she would've liked for the guests to finally dissipate, but when they did Sybil could bear it no longer. She ran from the memorial site towards the forests that surrounded Downton Abbey, their large estate.

She ran and ran, until she was free.

* * *

"We must discuss it," Violet Crawley said, setting her crystal glass of wine down onto a small wooden table in the drawing room. All of the guests had left, even the Imperials who, in her opinion, had long outstayed their welcome. _Always acting like they owned the ground on which they walked, _she thought bitterly. Violet hadn't missed their snide and disgust-filled gazes during the ceremony, and their false sympathies following it. But it was over, poor James and Patrick put to rest, and now they had to continue on.

Carson was out of the room, of course, along with the other footmen. Otherwise, she would have never brought up the topic. The staff knew when to leave the family to their private conversations.

"Discuss what?" Her son Robert asked, his voice laced with urgency. He looked up from his own wine glass with a sense of mild shock – the way he always looked when Violet ventured into topic of which her son was not particularly fond.

In the days since they found out about Cousin James and Cousin Patrick's deaths, Robert was still reeling from the news, almost unwilling to face the facts of it all. He had been quite unwilling to speak to anyone for the first few days, including Violet herself, and only now seemed to be able to make decent – if rather limited – conversation.

"The new heir," she replied, calm as ever.

"Oh, Granny," Edith breathed. Her eyes were shiny with fresh tears. She was still clutching that kerchief from the memorial service hours ago. "Cousin James and Cousin Patrick have only just been buried."

"But they haven't been buried," Mary argued. "It's the Empire's fault there are no bodies _to _bury."

It was the first treasonous thing Mary had said all day (though Violet was surprised at how far through the day she'd made it), and she was just glad it was in the privacy of Downton's halls, and only in the company of her family. It wasn't that the staff weren't loyal to the family – heaven knew Carson and Mrs. Hughes were – but one could never be too careful.

Her granddaughter had made that mistake some years ago, when she had made a particularly choicest remark concerning the Empire's presence on their planet at dinner in front of a few footmen – and Carson. That evening Violet had overheard Robert and Cora tell Mary she could not say such things in front of those were not family.

"But the staff is like family," a young Mary had argued. Even then she was ready for the Galactic Senate.

Robert sighed. "Yes, they are like family. In fact, we are very lucky to have a butler like Carson and footmen like Thomas and Henry… but saying those things can get them into trouble."

"How?" Mary asked. "They're just words."

"But if Governor Callen or anyone else in the Empire knew we meant them, Carson or Thomas or Henry could get hurt for not reporting them. Do you understand, Mary?"

Violet wouldn't say she was one to eavesdrop, but that evening, during that conversation, she had allowed herself one moment of weakness and peaked through the door left ever-so-slightly ajar. She watched Mary nod her head solemnly and both Robert and Cora kiss her atop her head. It was a conversation Violet had with Robert and Rosamund when they had been at that age, though hoped Mary wouldn't have to have such a discussion if she had children.

"Robert," Violet said sternly, returning to the presence of the drawing room. "Whether you like it or not, James and Patrick can no longer inherit the title and estate. They both will go to your new heir." This wasn't even about the Rebellion, it was about the continuation of their family, of their system.

"You did look into it, didn't you?" Cora asked, eyes wide. She was sitting on an intricately upholstered sofa with Edith, who shot her a look of hurt. Cora ignored it.

"Of course, I did," Robert sighed. "Callen was practically breathing down my back about it since the moment we heard the news."

"Why?" Edith asked. The kerchief was now crumpled in the grip of her hands. Violet had always told her granddaughters not to fidget – it made nervous habits. And nervous habits were a sure bet to give yourself away.

"Why do you think?" Mary snapped, quite harshly. "The Empire obviously wants to look into it themselves, to make sure he's loyal to the Empire above all else."

Robert nodded solemnly. "He's a barrister on Coruscant, descended from the younger son of the third earl."

"A barrister from Coruscant?" Mary asked, seeming appalled that a member of their family could have such an occupation.

"Calm down, Mary," Violet replied. "It could be worse. He could be a moisture farmer from Tatooine." She laughed to bring some levity to the whole ghastly situation. Mary let out a frustrated sigh.

"I don't understand why _I _can't be heir," Mary argued, "when systems like Alderaan have _sensible _inheritance laws –"

"You _know _why, Mary," this time it was Cora who answered. She wore a serious look on her face, one that didn't encourage any arguing. Violet would never say it aloud, but she admired her for it. "If your father were to make you his heir, here and now, it would look too suspicious to the Empire. This system has had the same inheritance laws for thousands of years. To go changing them now just for our benefit would raise too many questions. No doubt this whole family is under such scrutiny because of what happened to James and Patrick, and now we must take extra steps to ensure not just our safety, but the safety of the Rebellion."

"So inviting a perfect stranger into our home, into our _private lives, _will ensure our safety?" Mary fumed. "For all we know, he _could _be loyal to the Empire and betray us."

"For goodness sakes, Mary," Violet said, which made everyone in the room snap their head towards her. "We wouldn't tell him about the Rebellion. For once," she sighed, "I agree with your mother. Accepting this new heir will appease the Empire and not arouse any suspicion. But we must tread very carefully."

"Things cannot go back to the way they were," Robert agreed.

A heavy silence followed Robert's words as the family was motionless in the drawing room. Violet suddenly got a strange feeling they were being watched by the Empire, but she brushed it away. It was just her being paranoid, and paranoia would not help. Of that, she knew all too well.

The silence was broken by the soft click of the door opening and Carson, the family's butler, stepping inside.

"Luncheon is served, my lady," he announced with a slight bow of the head.

"I don't think I could eat a thing," Edith commented.

"Really?" Violet blinked. "Grief always makes me unimaginably hungry." Robert shot her a look. She shrugged in return.

"Where is Sybil?" Cora asked, standing and gazing out the drawing room's large windows.

"She was very distraught during the service, but I didn't see where she went after the guests left," Mary replied, gathering her skirts and making her way towards the door.

Violet sighed and leaned against her walking cane to stand from the velvet settee. "I believe I know where she may be."

"Where?" Robert asked, sounding quite alarmed.

"I just know," she replied, shooting him a knowing look. Robert understood immediately.

"Why are you two being so secretive?" Mary asked.

"Never you mind," Violet replied. "Start luncheon without me."

"Are you sure?" Cora asked.

"Yes, yes, of course. There's no use letting Mrs. Patmore's food run cold on my account." And with that, Violet strode out the door.

* * *

"Sybil, you're missing luncheon!"

With a start, her eyes shot open and the stack of upright twigs fell to the meadow's floor. Sybil turned, her heart quickening, but it was only her grandmother approaching with a serious look. She signed and return to her meditative position.

After the memorial service, Sybil had come to the only place that would give her some peace and privacy. More than any room at Downton, outside of which members of staff going about their chores would always be lurking. No, instead, she came to the small meadow surrounded by the forest behind the grounds of Downton. She and Mary had found it exploring when they were girls and had played there almost every day, pretending to be fighter pilots one day and Jedi the next. Mary had stopped coming to the meadow when she had become interested in politics, claiming it was no good to play make-believe when they could be changing the real world. But Sybil had never stopped coming.

"I'm not hungry," she replied sharply, perhaps a little too sharply than she would've liked. If her mother were present, she would have scolded her for talking in such a way to her grandmother.

"You've been practicing," Violet noted, her expression softening.

Sybil nodded. "After the service…" she trailed off, trying to find the right words. "I just needed to…"

"And what if it had been – heaven forbid – an Imperial soldier instead of myself?" Her grandmother's expression hardened again as she leaned against her cane. "Do you understand the consequences?"

"I understand, Granny," Sybil replied, with a deadpan expression. Her family would never let her forget the possibility of what would happen to them all if she were to be discovered. But still – she needed to practice her abilities, she needed to feel the Force flow at her finger tips.

She remembered the day she discovered her abilities, only eight at the time. She remembered vividly her parents telling her afterwards that she was so fortunate that only they had been there to witness it, and to never, _never _display her abilities to anyone.

Not even to her sisters.

At some point, her parents told her grandmother about it, though she would've guessed it on her own, eventually. And now when she practiced, it felt like her own personal rebellion against the Empire, more than the work her family did for the Alliance.

"This isn't just about James and Patrick, is it?" Her grandmother asked, standing just behind her in the meadow.

Sybil shook her head slowly. "How could they just stand there… offer Mama and Papa their condolences… pretending they had nothing to do with it? I saw them, crinkling their noses in disgust during the service. They couldn't even _pretend _to be respectful."

"They aren't respectful because they don't have to be, Sybil dear," her grandmother signed. "That's just how it is. All we can do is continue to fight, until they can no longer afford to be disrespectful." A beat passed before she spoke again. "Come with me, I have something to show you."

"What about the luncheon?"

"I told them to start without us. But don't worry, what I have to show you is more interesting."

Sybil smiled towards her and stood from the soft grass. Neither of them spoke again until they reached her grandmother's residence. The Dower House was much smaller than Downton, but by no means shabby. The three-storey brick house was surrounded by heavy iron-wrought gates and an assortment of trees native to Grantham, which gave it a sense of seclusion compared to the open grounds of Downton.

The butler Spratt let them in with a slightly confused glance but didn't question why they were back early from the luncheon, or why it was just the two of them. She then led Sybil up the main staircase and into her bedroom.

It was silly, but Sybil couldn't remember the last him she'd been in her grandmother's room, and certainly not as a young woman. It almost felt wrong, being in her most private space.

Violet lifted the bed skirt from the bed frame, and pulled out an old, dusty wooden box. She set in on the bed and opened it slowly.

"Really, Granny, there's no need to be so dramatic," Sybil commented, to which her grandmother gave her a small smirk.

But then she pulled out the item, and Sybil's breath caught in her throat. She knew what it was, of course, but she'd only seen such a thing in pictures or holograms. Never in person.

"Why do you have that?" Sybil asked when the words finally formed on her lips.

Violet smiled, placing the gleaming silver lightsaber in Sybil's hands. "It was my own, from so many years ago."

"Yours?" Sybil breathed. "What are you talking about?"

"I was once a Jedi Knight."

Once again, Sybil's breath caught in her throat. She could hardly imagine her grandmother swinging the lightsaber and using the Force. It almost didn't seem real. "How…" she trailed off, her gazed fixed on the weapon. It was elegantly designed, slim with smooth edges and a curved blade emitter.

"I trained at the Jedi Temple from a very young age, younger than you had been when you discovered your abilities. I thought that was the path I was going to follow all my life, and it almost was."

"What happened?"

"I fell in love with your dear late grandfather. Attachment was forbidden by the Jedi Code, you see, and so I left the Order to marry."

Sybil thought for a moment. "Do you ever regret it? Leaving it all?"

Violet sighed and smiled at her. "There were times at first when I did. I wondered if it had all been worth it. But when I look at you, when I look at my family… I could never regret it. I was fortunate to leave when I did, it turns out, before the Clone Wars and before the Jedi Purge…" she trailed off, and Sybil didn't prompt her for more. How many of those slaughtered during the Jedi Purge did her grandmother know? She looked back down at the lightsaber.

"Do Mama and Papa know?" Sybil asked.

Violet nodded. "But only them. Your sisters and the household staff don't." After a beat, she spoke again. "I want you to have it."

Sybil's head shot up. "What?"

"The lightsaber. I want you to have it."

"Why? Why now?"

"Because there may come a time when you need it, and because it is a reminder that while the Empire was destroyed so many others like me – like _us _– we still fight against them."

Sybil wrapped her grandmother in a warm hug. "Thank you, Granny."

"You're very welcome."

When they separated, Violet walked over to the bedroom's large windows and drew the heavy curtains closed. After she sat back down on the bed, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

"Granny?" Sybil asked.

"I'm making sure no one is in the hall," she replied.

Sybil raised her eyebrow quizzically, but in a moment understood what her grandmother was implying. She gazed at the weapon, which felt almost slippery in her grasp. Violet gave her a short nod, and Sybil slowly breathed in. She cautiously pressed the activation matrix and the weapon came of life with a swift _whoosh _and a flash of emerald green. It hummed in her hands, almost soothingly, and Sybil could already feel the Force flowing through her.

"You still have much to learn about this, Sybil," Violet said.

"Will you tell Mama and Papa?"

"For now, no. Your mother would faint upon hearing it and who knows what your father would say," she replied with a soft smile. "But you must keep this hidden, somewhere the maids wouldn't even think to look. It is already a big risk taking it out now."

Sybil deactivated the lightsaber and sat beside her grandmother. "Of course, Granny."

"Now, we should be getting back to Downton before they send a search party for us. And perhaps…" she smiled, "I could give you some proper lessons on how to handle that weapon in the coming days. Your form, I'm sorry to say, was quite shabby."

And for the first time that day, Sybil laughed.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely readers! Thank you so much for the wonderful comments for this story, I'm glad you guys are liking it so far. Sorry for taking so long to update, but this chapter is pretty long so I hope you can forgive me for making you wait.
> 
> As always, thank you for the comments and the kudos! Enjoy!

_It had all happened so fast, _Matthew Crawley thought as he took the clothes from his closet and folded them into a large suitcase. One day, he was a barrister for a modest firm on Coruscant, and the next he was getting a message from the Earl of Grantham saying he was his heir. It had all seemed like a prank – albeit an elaborate one – but then the Earl had shown up at the door of the apartment he shared with this mother, explaining the entire situation.

"You see, you're descended from the third earl, and you're my closest living male relative," the Earl had said, sipping his tea. He was very calm about the whole thing, considering his cousins had just passed. A marauder attack, the Empire had said when it was on the holonews. They'd been on a relief mission to the Outer Rim – a great tragedy.

"But… you have three daughters, right? Can't one of them inherit?" Matthew had asked. He must've had a dumbfounded look on his face.

The Earl – or _Robert_, as he insisted – sighed. "It's all a very complicated and long story, but we're a people bounded by tradition and we can't go about breaking it now. I'll tell you more when you come to Grantham."

Matthew blinked. He couldn't be serious, could he? "Come to Grantham?"

"Yes, of course! You can't very well learn to govern the system from here," he replied, as if it were obvious.

_Govern the system. _It was real, he was going to be the next Earl of Grantham. Matthew let out a gasp, taking it all in. "I'll need some time… to explain it to my colleagues, to my mother…" he trailed off, the number of things he had to do was already giving him a headache.

"Of course, of course," the Earl said with a smile. "Take as much time as you need. Please contact us when you're ready. We'll send a ship for you."

And so here he was, packing away his belongings. His mother was out, doing some last few errands before they had to leave… something about purchasing a gift for the Earl and Countess. Their large apartment was now sparse, devoid of any kind of evidence that life had once occupied it. The only source of vivacity was outside its large windows, where hundreds of speeders and ships raced through the air. His mother wanted to let out the apartment, so that others may live there while they were at Grantham. Matthew, on the other hand, wasn't ready for that yet. He still had his doubts about the whole situation, and he wondered whether he should just give it up after visiting the system.

"There's no mechanism for you to do so," his mother had told him after he explained everything to her after the earl's visit. "You _will _become an earl, and you _will _inherit the estate. Whatever you do with it once you get it is up to you."

Those words stuck in Matthew's head. Did he _want _to throw it all away?He had no experience governing _anything, _let alone a planet. An Inner Rim planet, he reminded himself, which provided an immense amount of resources to not only the Empire, but to many other systems that weren't fortunate to have the fertile farmland Grantham possessed.

_Who was the next heir after him? _Surely if the closest heir was descended from the third, the next heir would even be more distant than that. No, he wouldn't back out now. He at least owed them that much.

They were his family, after all.

"Mr. Crawley." A voice jolted him from his thoughts. He looked up towards the room of the door to see their maid, Alma, standing in the doorway with a distressed look about her. They were one of the few tenants – if not the _only _tenants of the large high-rise building to employ an actual human servant. Most preferred attendant droids or those stuffy protocol droids, but not the Crawleys. His mother – bless her – thrived on helping those less fortunate than them, and thus provided a source of employment to not just Alma, but to a cook as well.

Robert Crawley had been surprised yet delighted to see the presence of human servants upon his arrival to their apartment, as the Crawleys' estate on Grantham provided employment for a great deal of human maids, footmen, cooks, and the like. Perhaps, in a strange way, it had eased some of the awkwardness upon their first meeting.

"Yes?" Matthew asked in alarm.

"There are two officers who would like to speak with you, they're in the parlour."

Matthew let out a frustrated sigh. Amidst all the commotion, he had forgotten to tell them to meet with Bray instead. They would have to be put off a little longer. The case wasn't due in court until the following week, so at least Bray would have time to collect their statements. Matthew prepared to tell the officers to forgive him for all the hassle, but when he rounded the corner to the parlour, he stopped dead in his tracks. Standing in front of him were most definitely not two young officers from the Academy who had witnessed a speeder accident.

The two men standing before him were older, decorated with a wealth of coloured bars on their olive-green uniforms. The younger of the two men had bright blond hair and gleaming blue eyes, while the other had incredibly sharp features, with grey, thinning hair and equally grey eyes.

Matthew cleared this throat. "Thank you, Alma."

The maid gave a slight bow of her head and left the room, leaving him alone with the two Imperial officials

"I believe congratulations are in order," the older officer said, clasping his hands behind his back. He had a slight smirk at the corner of his lips, like he enjoyed being in complete control of the situation.

Matthew blinked.

"You are now the heir to one of the most important and influential planets in the galaxy," he continued.

"How…" Matthew trailed off, unable to find the right words. As far as he knew, the Crawleys hadn't released any sort of statement about their new heir, nor had his name appeared on the holo.

"The Empire took it upon themselves to investigate the matter fully," he replied. "After the tragedy of losing not only one but two heirs, it is in both the galaxy and the Empire's interests to ensure a peaceful transition of power." The words were said as if he had already become Earl.

A beat passed; Matthew shook his head. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't know who you are." He hated not knowing who was interrogating him.

"Grand Moff Tarkin, Mr. Crawley," the older man said, a little annoyed. Clearly, he was used to people knowing who he was. "And this is the Imperial Governor of Grantham, Jonas Callen." He gestured to the younger blond-haired man.

"I believe we will be working quiet closely in the future, Mr. Crawley," Callen noted.

"Yes, of course," Matthew replied, still coming to terms with the fact that two high-ranking Imperial officers were in his apartment. He still didn't know why exactly why they were here.

"I do hope our relationship will prove beneficial to us both." This time it was Tarkin who spoke, his deep drawl becoming more intimidating.

"What exactly do you want?" Matthew tried to keep his voice as steady as possible. Suddenly he hoped his mother didn't walk in on them, he didn't know what she'd say.

"I understand you're traveling to Grantham with your mother, Isobel Crawley."

Matthew swallowed, but didn't say anything.

"I hope you'll be a great help to us."

"Help…?"

"The Crawleys are of… _interest_ to the Empire."

Both men gave Matthew a knowing look, and he quickly realized what they were asking of him. "You want me to… _spy _on them?"

"Governor Callen's contact information has already been sent to your datapad," Tarkin continued nonchalantly.

"What –" Matthew's gaze bolted towards his room, to where his datapad was kept, and then back to the Imperial officers.

"I trust you will not fail us." Tarkin moved towards Matthew until he was standing just above him. "A tragedy has already befallen James and Patrick Crawley. Losing a third heir would be… too much to bear."

Matthew swallowed once more, but it felt as if his throat was raw. Any words he wanted to say couldn't get passed his lips.

"Have a safe journey, Mr. Crawley." Tarkin nodded his head, and the two strode out the apartment. Once the door shut with a resounding click, Matthew's knees buckled from under him, and he fell to the floor in a state of shock.

* * *

The visit from the Imperial officers rung constantly in his mind even as he boarded the Granthinian yacht the Earl had sent for them the next morning. His mother, of course had commented how distracted he was, to which Matthew simply replied that he was nervous about meeting the Crawleys of Grantham and taking on this task he didn't particularly desire.

It was the truth – technically.

He couldn't tell his mother about the threats made by the Empire. He couldn't. He knew how she would react, he wouldn't have her thrust into this new life on Grantham with an Imperial threat looming over their heads.

_Imperial threat._

Matthew still couldn't quite believe he had been threatened into spying on his family by the Empire. Matthew didn't know what he would do. He supposed he could delay any correspondence to Governor Callen as long as possible, but of course the Empire would get too suspicious and reinforce the threat easily enough. But what if they didn't give him a second chance? The Empire had what seemed like an infinite amount of resources. They could find a way to take care of him quickly.

No, delaying correspondence was too dangerous. Matthew would just have to be careful of what he revealed to the Empire.

Tarkin had said the Crawleys were "of interest" to the Empire, but what exactly were they looking for? The Crawleys were agriculturists. Their people grew wheat and produce, they raised horses, pigs, and cattle. The family conducted relief missions to Outer Rim planets who had little to offer the rest of the galaxy. They weren't building high-tech weapons for the Empire or the head of a galaxy-wide starship manufacturing firm suspected of dealing to the Rebellion.

Matthew turned his gaze from the ship's viewport towards his mother, who was reading on a holopad.

"Did you know that Grantham provides fresh water, grain, and produce to more than a third of the systems in the galaxy?" Isobel Crawley remarked, barely looking up from the screen.

Matthew couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "Mother, are you studying up on Grantham?"

His mother gazed up towards him and blinked, as if the answer were obvious. "Well, of course, Matthew. If I'm going to live on a new planet for the foreseeable future, I would like to know at least a little about it. I would suggest you read up on it, too, if you're going to govern it."

_Govern it. _Despite everything, even _that _statement still felt unusual to hear out loud. _Him, _Matthew Crawley, a barrister for a small firm on Corruscant – one day governing an entire system.

"Oh, Grantham also provides water and food supplies to the majority of the Imperial Fleet," his mother said, reading from her holopad.

A sick feeling twisted in Matthew's stomach. If the Crawleys provided the Empire with a huge quantity of resources, it was no wonder they were "of interest" to them. But even so, the Empire must exert some sort of control over production on the planet, why did they need _him _to spy for them? Perhaps Tarkin was tricking him, perhaps it was all just some test to prove his loyalty to the Empire, to make sure they'd be able to bully him into submission once he became earl.

Again, Matthew shook his head, willing for the thoughts to leave him. They must be close to the system now, and he couldn't afford to look intimidated or anxious upon meeting the Crawleys.

"Oh, Matthew, listen to this," his mother chimed in again, completely in her own world. "The estate of the Earl and Countess – Downton Abbey – is a huge source of employment. They employ a large staff of maids, footmen, cooks, grooms, kitchen workers, and hallboys to earn a good living. Apparently, the estate has had human employees for hundreds of years, it's part of their tradition."

"Then I'm sure you'll get along quite well," he replied with a smile.

"Sir, ma'am," a new voiced chimed in from the hall of the ship. It was the captain of the vessel who had first met them at the Coruscant port where they embarked. Branson, if he recalled correctly. "The _Verdant _is coming up on Grantham. We should be dropping out of hyperspace in just a few moments," he annouced.

"Thank you, Captain," Isobel smiled cheerfully. Branson nodded and swiftly left from the doorway.

Within minutes, the blue swirl of hyperspace dissolved to reveal a lush green planet, spotted with white clouds and blue lakes. It was significantly smaller than Coruscant, but beautiful, more beautiful than he'd seen on his datapad. Matthew had traveled off-planet before, of course, for his job – mainly for research purposes, but never to a planet as lush as Grantham.

The _Verdant _descended into Grantham's atmosphere, and soon the viewports were over taken by white and blue clouds, and then finally the planet's sprawling fertile landscapes surrounded them. Matthew didn't know what he'd imagined it would be like, but it wasn't _this._

The ship approached what looked to be a small village surrounded by endless acres of farmland. Off in the distance, was a sprawling estate – the Crawleys' residence, he assumed – also surrounded by perfectly manicured gardens and a large forest just behind it. He had supposed there would be some sort of city around the estate, but the lands were flat for mile and miles.

"It's certainly different than Coruscant," Isobel said as she peered out the viewport.

"_That's _emphatically an understatement," Matthew replied, deadpan. "It'll certainly take some getting used to. Though I did some research and found a few small firms looking for barristers in the village."

"Oh, good."

The ship slowly made its way to the estate, and finally docked in a large hanger just off to its side. Matthew and his mother looked at each other but didn't say anything. They didn't have to say anything, because they knew what they were thinking.

_This was happening, whether they liked it or not._

Once the ship's engines shut down, Captain Branson led them to the ramp, which had already descended onto the hangar floor. Matthew swallowed as a nervous feeling set in. The Crawleys were right there, waiting for him.

"Our luggage?" Isobel asked Branson, turning to him.

"It's all being taken care of, Mrs. Crawley," the captain assured.

Matthew waved it off. "I can –"

"Don't worry, Mr. Crawley. Your belongings are being taken to your residence."

"Our residence… we're not staying at the estate?" Matthew asked, a little dumbfounded.

Branson blinked. "No, no, you'll be staying at Crawley House, a home in the village owned by the family."

Matthew nodded. At least they'd have some sense of privacy. A smaller house meant a smaller staff, of course. Perhaps it wouldn't take as much getting used to as he'd previously thought.

"Come along, Matthew," Isobel chimed, descending the ramp. "We mustn't keep them waiting."

Matthew followed his mother, mentally preparing himself to meet the rest of the Crawley family. But he didn't feel prepared for this, he didn't feel prepared for anything.

* * *

"I simply do not understand why we have to rush into this," Cora said as she and her husband were walking towards the estate's hangar.

"You know why we have to," he said, giving her a knowing look. "Besides, Matthew is my heir and he's never once set foot on the system. He needs to know the ins and outs of governing it."

"Patrick was your heir, but he hardly knew anything about governing the system. He and James were all too busy running missions for the Rebellion out of Yavin." She was uncomfortable with this, with all of it. Robert was right though, she did know why Matthew needed to come now. It wasn't just so he could learn to govern, but so they could be seen as accepting a new heir without complaint. The Empire was expecting it of them.

"Still, Patrick was in and out of the house since the day he was born. You saw how many people turned up for the service," Robert continued.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean we can welcome this new heir into our family as if nothing has changed. What if he's in league with the Empire? What if that mother of his is?"

Robert rolled his eyes. "You know, you're starting to sound just like my mother," he said with a slight chuckle. "But this Matthew Crawley is a solicitor, and when I met him on Coruscant he didn't strike me as an Imperial spy. Let's give him a little credit before we've gotten to know him."

Cora didn't say anything to that, and instead sighed heavily. If she had her way Mary would be heir to the system. If wouldn't matter if she was a girl or anything else. For goodness' sakes, on her home planet of Naboo they elected queens as young as fourteen. But Grantham was not like Naboo. Grantham was steeped in tradition – tradition that was expected to be upheld, not changed whenever it suited them.

They stopped in front of the _Verdant_'s descending ramp, and seconds later the new heir came into view. Before she could stop herself, Cora's eyebrowed raised in surprise. Robert hadn't been generous when he had said the new heir was young and handsome. Perhaps – if everything went well – Mary could still become Countess of Grantham. But that was a long way off, she didn't even know if they could be trusted.

"Matthew, it's good to see you again. I hope you've had a pleasant journey," Robert smiled, extending his arm. Matthew shook it, looking a little nervous at the whole situation.

"Thank you, Lord Grantham – Robert. We did," he replied before gesturing to the older woman beside him. "This is my mother, Isobel."

Isobel Crawley. Cora took her in. She was younger than Violet by a decade or so, and all smiles. She didn't share her son's nervousness or anxiety and seemed to want to make herself at home. At first glance she didn't look like she could be an Imperial spy, or seem to have Imperial sympathies, for that matter. But of course _looks _didn't matter, _looks _didn't reveal one's alliances.

"I don't believe you've met my wife, Cora, Countess of Grantham," Robert introduced, resting a hand on the small of her back.

"It's a pleasure to meet you both," she said politely.

"I'm sorry we can't give you more of a reception," he continued. "Our daughters are otherwise preoccupied."

"Not a problem at all," Matthew said.

"But we would like you to meet them this evening and get a better look at the estate. Would dinner at eight be alright? Unless you're too tired."

"No, no, that's perfectly alright," it was Isobel who answered this time. "We'd be delighted."

"It's settled then. Neame will take you to Crawley House where you can meet your staff and get settled."

"Thank you," Matthew replied.

"Now, if you'll excuse us," Robert smiled, and the two of them left the hangar without exchanging another word, not to the new heir, and not to each other. Cora was still taking in her first impressions of Matthew and his mother. They didn't seem all that malicious, but Matthew seemed terribly nervous. His eyes kept darting around the hangar, as if searching for someone that was watching them. It was understandable, of course. To be thrust into a new life you've never been prepared for that was so different from your own. Still, it was best to keep one's guard up – they could never be too careful with the threat of the Empire looming over, ready to devour them.

* * *

"Here we are ma'am, Crawley House," Neame, the chauffeur announced as the speeder pulled into the gates of their new residence. It was by no means as large as the Downton estate, but certainly much larger than anything Matthew was used to.

The house was three storeys, with large windows, stone pillars, and vines crawling up and down the stone work. He still found it strange that he should be living here. After all, no residence such as this even existed on Coruscant. It was all high-rise buildings where even the wealthiest would have a few floors to themselves, but never such a place with sprawling gardens and greenery.

An older man approached the speeder as the chauffeur opened its doors.

"Can I help you?" Matthew asked, a little stunned.

"I am Molesley, sir, your butler and valet," the man replied, his tone even and serious.

Matthew resisted the urge to scoff. When Lord Grantham had said they would have a staff at their residence he thought he'd meant just a cook and perhaps a maid. He didn't need a butler, or a valet for that matter. He hated the thought of more people surrounding him, suffocating him, when the Empire was already doing that. "I'm sorry, Molesley, but we don't–" Matthew started but was cut off by his mother coming around.

"We're delighted to meet you, Molesley," she said.

"Shall I get your bags?"

"No, that's quite alright –"

"Yes, thank you," his mother spoke over him again, and he shot her a look.

After a lifetime, Matthew and Isobel finally got a moment to themselves in the living room of the house. They'd met their cook (Mrs. Bird), their maid (Ellen), and their kitchen maid (Beth), and he wondered if there was anyone else, but it was just the four of them.

"Why are you doing that?" Matthew asked.

His mother gave him a look. "Doing what?"

"Changing for _them_."

Isobel scoffed. "I am _adapting _to my new surroundings, Matthew. They expect us to not know how to behave and I'd rather not confirm their expectations. You saw the way the Countess looked at me – she was practically sizing me up."

"Well, I won't let them change me," Matthew replied. "I have to be myself. I'll be no use to anyone if I can't be myself." He would _try_ to be himself, as much as he could at least. But he didn't know how much of himself he could be, reporting on his family. He still wasn't even sure if he was going to do it. He would have to, sooner or later – the Empire would see to that, but perhaps he could try to put them off as long as possible, say nothing of interest was happening. But would the Empire even believe that?

"And before you or _they _get any ideas, I will choose my own wife," he continued, trying to shake off the thoughts of the Empire. Perhaps speaking of a different daunting prospect would take his mind off things.

"What do you mean?"

"It's clear they'll want to push one of the daughters at me," Matthew explained. "They'll have fixed on that when they heard I was a bachelor."

"Lady Mary Crawley," Molesley announced, making him bolt around.

A young woman entered the room, dressed in a riding habit._ That _was something you certainly didn't see on Coruscant. A top hat covered her dark hair, and equally dark eyes seemed to bore into his, as if she had just heard their entire conversation. This was Lord Grantham's eldest daughter, he realized. He felt heat rush to his cheeks, and his palms suddenly became sweaty.

"Lady Mary –" Isobel started, stunned at sudden entrance of the woman.

"Cousin Mary, please," she replied cordially. Matthew was surprised at how quickly Lady Mary seemed to welcome them into her family. But perhaps she was just being polite, under the circumstances. She should resent him, a man upending her whole life, her family through no fault of her own. She probably did. "Mama sent me to see how you were settling in," she continued. If she had heard their conversation, she didn't betray it.

"Perfectly fine, thank you," Isobel smiled sweetly, also not betraying their conversation. And tense moment of silence passed between them. Matthew thought that if he tried to speak his words would come out a garbled mess. It would certainly not make a good first impression. "Will you stay and have some tea?" His mother said finally, the peacemaker she was.

Lady Mary smiled but shook her head. "Oh no, you're far too busy." She then looked directly at Matthew. "And I wouldn't want to _push _in."

Before he could open his mouth to speak, Lady Mary Crawley left the room without another word. Matthew sighed and gave a defeated glance at his mother. Now it was clear she had heard their conversation, and his suspicions of the resentment she held against him were true. He followed her out of the house and through the front gates, where she was getting ready to leave on her horse with what must be a groom from the estate.

_Certainly _something you wouldn't see on Coruscant. Matthew couldn't even remember the last time he'd been riding. Before his father had passed, they used to take family trips to systems containing a bit more open air, ones with beaches that smelt of salt water, or where it seemed as if they could run the entire length of the planet with nothing to get in their way. Of course, after his father passed those trips stopped altogether. His mother became more and more involved with her nursing duties, overseeing clinics and the medical droids and such, and he went to university. For a moment, Grantham felt like those systems to which he'd vacationed – the sprawling greenery and tiny villages and open air. But he was not vacationing. He was here because he had suddenly become the heir to the greenery and the villages and the open air – and he wasn't ready for any of it.

Matthew blinked, and caught Lady Mary just as she about to take off. "I'm sorry, Lady Mary," he said, trying to find the right words. But what did it matter – she already thought he was a fool. "You must understand, I was only joking." He winced at his own words.

"Of course. And I agree," Lady Mary said.

Matthew blinked again, not knowing how to respond.

"The whole thing is a complete joke."

* * *

"Is he _really _a solicitor from Coruscant?" Daisy, Downton's kitchen maid asked as she set the servants' dining table for their afternoon tea. It was the only time the staff could talk all amongst themselves without many chores getting in the way. There was breakfast and dinner of course, but Daisy and Mrs. Patmore and the rest of the kitchen staff ate separately, and of course Mr. Carson would most certainly steer the conversations clear of their current topic of discussion – the arrival of the new heir.

"That's what Branson told me," William, a junior footman replied. "He said they didn't even bring that much with them. Just a few bags. No staff or even any droids."

"Imagine that – a solicitor lording over us all high and mighty when he's really no better than us," Thomas, the first footman said sourly from the corner of the table, smoking a cigarette. Daisy could tell the rest of them had to stop themselves from rolling their eyes. Thomas was always like that, always liked to look down on everyone.

"It's a very noble profession," Anna, perhaps the most sound-minded of the housemaids argued. "Besides, I don't believe you've even met him, yet."

"And neither have you," Thomas shot back. "So don't pretend to like him already."

"If I recall correctly, Thomas, it is not your job to decide whether or not you like Mr. Crawley," a new voice rumbled in the servants' dining hall. The staff stood as the butler entered with the housekeeper beside him, and quickly took their seats again. "Mr. Crawley and his mother have been invited to dinner this evening and I expect _everyone _to treat them with the same amount of respect as you would Mr. James or Mr. Patrick."

A silence filled the hall, followed by a few muttered "yes, Mr. Carsons".

Afternoon tea passed without raising the topic again, but sooner rather than later Mrs. Hughes found herself raising doubts about Mr. Crawley with Mr. Carson in the butler's pantry. He was getting the wine ready for the evening's dinner, and she should have been making sure the drawing room was ready for their guests' arrivals, but she still couldn't put her doubts out her mind and needed to talk about it. It wasn't just that Mr. Crawley had never once set foot on the system before, but that the family's situation was precarious enough as it is with Empire without two strangers coming in and suddenly disrupting the order of things. It had worked well with James and Patrick. But they had become more ambitious than they were careful – and look where that had gotten them. If the Empire wasn't watching them then, they most certainly were now, and that was what worried Mrs. Hughes.

The rest of the staff didn't know of the family's involvement in the Rebellion, of course, but she suspected some would have guessed it. Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson were only two staff members who knew the extent of it, and Carson certainly took it as his personal duty to keep the family safe.

"I know what said earlier, but I don't feel good about this, I don't feel good about it at all," Mr. Carson said, pouring wine into a crystal decanter.

"So, you can't let the topic go either," she replied, clasping her arms in front of her. "I know it's not ideal, but they've got to do it."

"Oh, I know they've got to do it, lest the Empire bring down their wrath upon them. But he could jeopardize the safety of the whole family."

"They won't let him in that easily," Mrs. Hughes argued. "What do you think they were going to do? Introduce him to the Dowager Countess and then take him on a mission? Have a little faith in them."

Mr. Carson scoffed. "I have every faith in the family. But it's not just _that. _Mr. Crawley hasn't even been to the system before, what does he know of governing it?"

"His Lordship will teach him, of course."

The butler gave a sound of disapproval as he finished with the decanter. "I need to take this upstairs."

"Mr. Carson," the housekeeper said, catching him just before he left. "We must give Mr. Crawley a chance. He deserves a chance."

* * *

It wasn't that Sybil Crawley didn't _want _to meet Mr. Matthew Crawley and his mother, or listen to what Mary had to say about them, but more than anything she wanted to feel the lightsaber in her hands. She wanted to feel its energy flowing through her. The Force was a powerful thing, and Sybil felt it calling every waking moment.

Her grandmother had given a few lessons on how to wield it, under the guise that she was simply visiting her for tea. Though, they both agreed they'd have to make up some other excuse before her Mama or Papa got too suspicious. Sybil was planning on telling them with Granny, of course, but not until the business with James and Patrick and the Empire blew over – if it ever did. The arrival of Mr. Matthew and his mother complicated the matter, as everyone agreed, but she could find a way to keep to herself and not arouse any suspicions. She'd done well hiding the secret from her sisters, after all.

"He's very… full of himself," Mary was saying, pulling up her gloves. Anna had already tended to the girls and left the room to let them talk in private. They were all in Mary's room, watching her decide which pair of gloves best suited her deep red dinner gown. She always took the longest, so it become something of a tradition to visit with her before going down and joining the others in the drawing room.

"Why do you say that?" Sybil asked, rejoining the conversation.

"It's just an impression," Mary replied quickly, making some final adjustments to her hair.

"But do you think he's loyal to the Empire?" Edith asked the question everyone was thinking.

"He didn't seem one way or the other, but we didn't have much time to talk politics," she replied, clearly becoming quite irritated. The whole mess bothered Mary most of all, of course. She had been practically engaged to Cousin Patrick, and had a life set as a senator and the future Countess of Grantham. Now, her future with the estate was uncertain, and her position as a senator was at risk because of the deaths of Cousin James and Cousin Patrick. The Empire may intend to remove her because they most certainly knew about their cousins' rebel sympathies.

"Well, why don't we go downstairs and decide for ourselves," Sybil said, trying to mitigate growing tensions.

Without another word, Mary all but stormed out of the room, Edith following behind. Granny was already in the drawing room when they arrived, along with Mama and Papa sitting idly. No one looked particularly excited. Even Papa, who had said he liked Cousin Matthew when he'd seen him on Coruscant and then again when they had met them at the hangar, but the rest of them didn't seem convinced, Granny especially.

Before they got completely restless, Carson announced that Mr. Matthew Crawley and Mrs. Isobel Crawley had arrived. Isobel was his mother, as they had found out when the family solicitor had been telling him about the new heir. _A bachelor, _Mr. Murray had said, and apparently not a bad-looking one. Of course, this prospect raised the whole issue of whether Mary would marry him, just as it had been before. But after seeing Mary come back from Crawley House in such an irritated state, Sybil knew getting her to marry the new heir would be difficult.

The family left the confines of the drawing room and lined up in the foyer by the main entrance much like a class of school children. The main staff was already lined up across from them, with many sneaking gazes towards the front doors. Mrs. Hughes was, of course trying to keep them from doing so, but soon enough she didn't have to because Cousin Matthew and his mother were already making their way into the foyer.

Sybil considered Mary's impression of the new heir as full of himself, but if anything, Cousin Matthew looked the most nervous out of all at them. He gazed up and down at his new surroundings – of the grandeur of Downton Abbey, which only seemed to add to his anxiety. His dinner attire looked a little wrinkled, and she caught Mary trying to hide a snicker behind her smile. Edith, on the other hand, seemed quite taken with him and she could see why – he was perfectly handsome with neatly combed blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

Lord and Lady Grantham stepped up to greet them. "Welcome to Downton," Cora said with a bright smile.

Isobel Crawley smiled back. She too seemed rather in awe of her surroundings. "Thank you very much. It's all so lovely."

"Yes, it's quite the reception committee," Cousin Matthew commented, gazing at the staff. The rest of them stared blankly at his attempt at humour, but Sybil let out the smallest of giggles at the awkward situation.

"This is Carson, we'd all be lost without him," Robert continued, gesturing to the butler whose cold gaze did not falter. "And my mother," he moved on to Violet, who shared the butler's steel gaze. "Mama, may I introduce Matthew Crawley and his mother, Isobel."

"How very nice to meet you," Isobel said, walking up to the Dowager Countess and offering her a hand to shake. "What shall we call each other?"

Violet blinked. "Well, we could always start with 'Mrs. Crawley' and 'Lady Grantham'."

This time, it was harder for Sybil to hold in her giggles. Her grandmother, of course, didn't have to treat their guests so, but she probably felt as if she was testing them in some way.

A tense silence followed for several seconds, as if Isobel were to reply, but Cora mitigated the situation by moving the family into the dining room to finally start the dinner service.

"Do you think you'll enjoy country life? It can be so quiet after a planet like Coruscant," Robert said during the dinner's main course.

"I'm sure I'll find something to do," Isobel replied. "I might look into the hospital in the village. I used to be a nurse, you see."

"I'm afraid it would be very different from the hospitals you're used to," Violet said with a slight smirk.

"I'm sure I'll make do."

"Cousin Matthew, I understand you were a barrister," Cora asked, changing the topic of conversation before Violet and Isobel could escalate. "What sort of law did you practice?"

Matthew smiled and seemed to relax for the first time that night. "Mostly industrial law. There are a lot of factories on Coruscant and many run into some form of legal trouble or another. I've also been to Corellia to study law in regard to their starship industries."

"I've always wanted to travel to Corellia," Edith said, her eyes practically lighting up.

"It can't have been pleasant with all those Imperials controlling everything," Violet commented, to which Robert shot her a look.

He knew what his mother was doing, and Sybil knew it to. This was just another way Violet was testing the new heir, by judging his response.

Matthew was a little taken aback by the comment, but nevertheless gave an even response. "No, not really. They stayed quite out of our hair." Sybil couldn't tell if her grandmother was satisfied with his answer. "Do uh… do any of you work?" He continued in between a mouthful of glazed pork.

Violet looked positively offended by the question, and a silence followed. It wasn't a rude question of course, and plenty of members of noble families of other systems worked, but Sybil knew it wasn't the type of work Cousin Matthew was thinking of. She could tell that he immediately regretted asking the question and decided to save him.

"Actually, Mary is Grantham's senator," she said, giving Cousin Matthew an encouraging smile.

"Yes, it's true," Mary replied, a little haughty. "Granny thinks I'm mad to pursue a career in politics, but I can't help it."

"Oh," Cousin Matthew smiled. "So, you've been to Coruscant?"

"Oh yes, many times. I can never get used to the crowdedness of it all, though." The Imperial presence on the planet didn't help it, either. "And of course, our Sybil conducts many of our relief missions."

"How very noble," he said, smiling at her.

"Yes, we have a long history of donating our resources to other less fortunate systems," Sybil explained. "Fresh water, mostly, but also produce and grain, and even soil to make their lands more fertile for farming."

"Yes, Sybil is always going on about helping those less fortunate," Mary said.

"But, Cousin Matthew, what will you do with your time here?" Sybil asked.

"I've been looking into firms here on Grantham. I'm happy to say that one partnership just in Ripon is looking very promising."

Immediately, Robert set down his cutlery and looked at his heir with shock. "You're looking for a job? Don't you know I mean to involve you in the running of the estate and the system?"

Matthew just shrugged. "Don't worry, there are plenty of hours in the day, and there are always the weekends."

Violet blinked. "What is a weekend?"

* * *

Hours later, well after his mother had said good night, Matthew sat at his study gazing over his datapad in agony.

A message from Governor Callen had already arrived: _How was dinner with the Crawleys?_

A simple question, yet one that somehow demanded an answer. Now Matthew knew he couldn't put off the Imperials as he had previously planned. He sighed, his head in his hands, and thought of what he could possibly write. The truth was they were perfectly alright, apart from the occasional snobbish question or glance, the Crawleys of Grantham seemed perfectly normal, if not a little suspicious of him. And of course, he couldn't blame them for that. Matthew was, after all stranger to these people, set to inherit everything. That alone would be bound to subject one to endless suspicions.

Suddenly, Matthew wondered if they thought him good enough, noble enough to inherit this great system. Probably not, considering, but it didn't matter. His mother's words rung in his ears: _You _will _become an earl, you _will _inherit the estate. Whatever you do with it once you get it is up to you._

There may be no mechanism for the Crawley family to disregard Matthew as their heir, but he didn't doubt they were trying to grasp at any solution to keep him from inheriting the estate and the system. Still, it was all too soon to jump to conclusions. The Crawleys seemed like a secretive bunch, but it was to be expected considering the situation.

Matthew sighed and gazed back at his datapad, fingers hovering above the keys. Slowly, he began to type.

_Dinner was perfectly fine, if a little awkward._

He hoped the governor didn't expect him to write a novel.

Only thirty seconds later, a reply came: _Continue to inform me should you discover anything of interest._

Matthew swallowed, inferring what "anything of interest" meant – any anti-Imperial rhetoric, to be sure. He shut off the datapad and laid back on the bed. He'd been on the planet for less than twenty-four hours, and he was already informing on his new-found family to the Empire. Shame rippled through his body, and he wondered long he could keep playing both sides.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely readers! 
> 
> Thank you for your continued support, kudos, and lovely comments. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It was certainly an odd sight, Edith thought, shifting her gaze from an open panel of the _Verdant's _engine to see Cousin Matthew roaming about the estate's hangar marveling at all the ships. Their collection was by no means unimpressive – over the years the Earls of Grantham had acquired three yachts, no less than ten speeders, and a fleet of single-piloted fighter craft. But Cousin Matthew's gaze of wonder took Edith aback. She would have thought he'd have seen every type of ship in the known galaxy on a planet like Coruscant.

Edith smiled, remembering when she had worn the same expression as Cousin Matthew as a small child, filled with the urge to know more. When Mary had first been elected to the Senate, Edith had begged her sister to allow her to come with her to Coruscant so she could spend hours watching all sorts of aircraft and starships fly in and out of the Senate building's massive landing bay. She even wanted to fly one of the smaller fighter ships to escort the _Verdant _to their generous apartments on the planet. Mary – and her parents, of course – had been quick to refuse her. Edith hadn't known why at the time, but she later found out it was because Mary had been meeting with other members of the Alliance to pass on some messages about an upcoming raid on a rebel base, and her family hadn't wanted more members of their family to go then was absolutely necessary.

Since then, Edith had to settle with flying over the vast plains and forests of Grantham, with no other starships to accompany her. She also was making constant repairs and upgrades to the _Verdant _under the tutelage of their Captain Tom Branson.

"Are you interested in flying, Cousin Matthew?" Edith finally raised her voice, seeming to startle him a little.

"Quite the opposite actually," he replied, smiling down at the shining tiled floor. "I like having my feet planted firmly on the ground."

"Perhaps we're not as closely related as I had once thought," Edith smirked.

"Perhaps not." This time Matthew blushed ever so slightly, letting out a small laugh. "You like it, then? Flying?"

"Adore it." Edith gazed back at her constant work in progress. "I feel as if I could _live_ amongst the stars."

"I'm surprised you feel that way," Cousin Matthew said, approaching the starship. "Even after what happened to… after what happened." His face drew down to his feet again. Edith could tell he regretted the words.

A pang bit into her heart at the thought of Cousin James and Cousin Patrick. Especially Cousin Patrick. When her father had received the news about it, she'd shut herself up in her room for days and finally come out for the memorial service – and even then with considerable difficulty. _Why did he insist on going on that mission? _She often wondered to herself. _Was it worth it – whatever they discovered that made the Empire destroy them?_

Edith swallowed the lump forming in her throat. "My love for flying started when I was a young girl, so it would take a lot for that love to dissipate. But hearing about Cousin James and Cousin Patrick… that almost did me in."

"I'm sorry," Cousin Matthew said, blushing again. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"Well, Granny says talking about it helps with grief, so…" she trailed off, her gaze shifting back to the _Verdant._

"Have you considered an occupation which would allow you to fly?" He asked, changing the subject.

"How scandalized Granny would be," Edith allowed herself to let out a small laugh. "But of course, I have. Since I was a girl, I've wanted to fly for the–" she stopped herself before the words could come spilling out. _I want to fly for the Rebellion. _Her heart started to race. She had been so close to revealing where her family's sympathies truly lied, so close to destroying everything not just her family but what so many others had spent the better part of two decades working to achieve.

"Fly for whom?" Cousin Matthew asked, jolting her from her thoughts.

Edith managed a relaxed, aloof smile, as if she had lost her train of thought. "I want to fly for anyone who would have me." A much better answer. Ambiguous. She only hoped that Cousin Matthew believed it. She cleared her throat, now it was her turn to change the subject. "Are you looking forward to the gala this evening? I imagine the attendance list will be closer to the crowdedness you're used to on Coruscant."

Cousin Matthew chuckled. "I'm actually quite terrified of the prospect."

"You needn't worry – most of Grantham's dignitaries are harmless old men. They'd end up doing most of the talking for you, anyway."

"Oh, really?" Matthew's eyebrows raised. "I would have thought they'd want to know all their new heir." It almost made him cringe to say those words.

"Don't worry," Edith smiled mischievously. "I'm sure they already know all about you from either Granny or Papa, though they may want you to fill in some of the gaps in their knowledge."

Matthew managed a some-what nervous laugh, catching Edith off guard. Perhaps he was just nervous at the whole prospect – he did seem rather shy during their first dinner. But Edith could tell it was something more… something he wasn't choosing to reveal.

The sound of the dressing gong carried through the hanger, jolting Edith from her thoughts. Of course, she'd completely forgotten her mother had scheduled dinner a little early in order to accommodate the gala in the evening.

"We uh…" Edith started, looking down at her grease-covered hands. "We'd better get ready for dinner. I'm assuming you and Cousin Isobel will be joining us?"

"Yes, I think so," Matthew nodded, seemly grateful to be off the previous subject. "I do hope this dinner's a little less awkward than our first."

Edith laughed as they started making their way back to the Abbey. "I'm sure it'll be fine. They get with easier with time. I can't imagine how different it must be coming from a planet such as Coruscant to our quiet little system. And not to mention how much Granny likes to stir the pot. You know she'd only trying to get a rise out of you and Cousin Isobel, that's why she's so confrontational."

"Making sure we're loyal to the family," Matthew commented lightheartedly, but it made Edith's heart freeze. Could he know? Already? But he and Cousin Isobel had only been on the system for less than a week. Had she given anything away? No, Edith told herself. It wasn't possible, she was reading too much into things.

Quickly, she composed herself and laughed off the comment with him. "Yes, I guess she is."

* * *

"I do hope there's no negative talk regarding Mr. Matthew and Mrs. Crawley downstairs," Robert said to his valet, Bates, as he was securing his cufflinks for their early dinner.

Bates shook his head. "Some of the staff were a little anxious at first, my lord, but much of it was concerning the fact that Mr. Matthew didn't arrive with his own valet. In any case, Mr. Carson quickly put any talk regarding Mr. Matthew and Mrs. Crawley to bed."

Robert nodded, satisfied with the answer. The staff, of course, had every right to be anxious. They – and the rest of the family for that matter – had grown so comfortable with James and Patrick. Though they had their own house in the more populated city of York, they had been in and out of the house seemingly every day. If only Patrick had not joined his father that day. Robert knew it was dangerous letting both of them go. He should have been sterner with Patrick, he should have convinced James not to let his son join them – because look where it had gotten them. In an instant, everything had changed.

Now there was a practical stranger set to inherit it all.

But Robert liked Matthew, and Mrs. Crawley for that matter, even if both Violet and Cora were still weary of them. Funnily, it was only Edith and Sybil that seemed to be taken with them, and he didn't know if Mary liked the new heir or it was just Mary being Mary. Getting his mother to warm up to the new Crawleys would prove a difficult task, though it was more dangerous for her, of course, as an ex-member of the Jedi Order.

"Don't let them get too close to you," Violet had said one evening when it was just the two of them in the drawing room, after everyone else had gone to bed. "Or Cora for that matter."

"Like I said, mother," Robert reasoned, "we're being very careful about what we say around them. I wouldn't jeopardize the survival of the Rebellion just because he's my new heir."

"You know it's not just about the survival about the Rebellion," Violet said, her voice raising to the tone she'd use when he and Rosamund would get into mischief as children. "There are not one but two Force-sensitive people in this family. And I most certainly need not remind you that harbouring Force-sensitive people is treason. Perhaps more treasonous that aiding the Rebellion."

"I know the dangers this poses to my own daughter," Robert fumed, a little louder than he would've liked. "To my family."

Violet sighed heavily, taking a large sip of sherry. "Oh, it was all so much easier when James and Patrick were alive."

And it was, Robert realized now, as he was dressing for dinner. Mary was set to marry Patrick, though nothing had been made official. They could keep everything in the family, their secrets would be safe… but they could've have everything, could they?

"My Lord?" Bates asked, jerking him from his thoughts.

"Sorry, Bates, I'm just caught up in my own mind," Robert confessed. "What did you say?"

"That you don't need to worry about downstairs, my Lord. We know how to conduct ourselves, lest Mr. Carson's wrath come down upon us. Besides, soon this should all become normal," Bates said, brushing down the sides of his suit jacket.

If Robert was being truthful with himself, he had a suspicion Bates knew of his family's business with the Rebellion, though he took special care to only directly involve Carson and Mrs. Hughes. Despite this, he assumed not just Bates but most of the staff knew just an inkling of the truth, and if not most of the staff than at least the senior members – Bates, of course, Cora's lady's maid O'Brien, and perhaps a few of the footmen. But the staff could be trusted for their discretion – Carson made sure of that. It had been like that since Patrick and the girls were children, not long after the Empire rose to power, and the Rebellion formed.

"Yes," Robert said, returning to the conversation. He suddenly felt rather nervous about the impeding gala later in the evening. Was it too early for Matthew? For the family? But it wasn't as if he could do anything about it now. The Empire was anxious for a smooth transition, and no doubt they were watching the family carefully to make sure they were complicit. "I should hope everything returns to normal as well."

* * *

Thomas had to admit, this dinner was going much better than the previous when Mr. Matthew and Mrs. Crawley had first arrived.

Perhaps it was because there was a mutual nervousness that was flowing around the dining table due to the impeding gala. The Dowager Countess uttered fewer of her usual snipes, particularly those directed at Mrs. Crawley, who was leading the better part of the conversations. She was the only one who seemed at ease with the whole situation.

"How many are invited to this gala?" Mrs. Crawley asked as the salad was being served. "I don't think I ever got the specifics."

"No, you wouldn't have," Thomas could have sworn he heard the Dowager Countess mutter under her breath. He let himself smirk the tiniest bit, making sure Mr. Carson was out of eye shot. Though, Thomas was sure the butler's ever-so-serious demeanor broke for a few seconds at the remark. The Dowager Countess was one of the only people in the family who could break through Mr. Carson's steely expressions. Well, The Dowager Countess _and _Lady Mary.

"Grantham dignitaries, mostly," Cora supplied, serving herself a few scoops of salad from Thomas's tray. "Ministers of the Cabinet, representatives from the government, family friends, and a few Imperial officials, of course."

To her credit, Lady Mary didn't resort to her usual eye-roll at the mention of the Empire. There had been all-too many dinners wherein she could have been arrested for treason right there and then, though the family trusted the staff for their utmost discretion. And Thomas had been working for the Crawleys too long and too hard to sell them out to the Empire now. Besides, his whole live was in Grantham, where else could he go? There weren't exactly a wealth of positions for first footmen anywhere else in the galaxy, especially when droids could do the job just as well _and _could be trusted not to betray one's political sympathies.

In a way, Thomas often admired Lady Mary's candidness. Downstairs, none of the staff could afford any sort of opinion on the Empire, and if anyone did decide to raise their voice about the growing Imperial presence on the planet Carson would shut them up before they could even get a second word in. Branson, the family's primary pilot had learned this within the first day of his arrival, though he still liked to give them an earful at dinner every once in a while. Thomas himself preferred to discuss the goings-on of the Empire over a cigarette with O'Brien… or Abram. O'Brien's opinion of it all was always the same: if it didn't affect her or her job, she didn't give two figs about what the Empire was doing on Grantham – or anywhere else, for that matter. But despite the butler's distaste for political talk, he always reinforced loyalty to the family above all else, which only reinforced Thomas's suspicions of the Crawleys' political affiliations.

"Golly," Mr. Matthew piped up, but it seemed as if he were talking mainly to his meal. "Perhaps I should have prepared some notes on my holopad."

"Don't worry, Cousin Matthew," Lady Sybil said with a comforting smile. "You're not expected to recite Grantham's constitution."

The jest was made to be a comfort, but Mr. Matthew didn't seem to relax. In fact, his back was ramrod straight, as if he were sitting in a courthouse waiting to present his argument.

As the dinner wore on, Thomas found himself tuning out the family's conversations – which would be much to the displeasure of O'Brien, who relied on him for gossip – and instead wanting nothing more than to see Abram. He'd sent him a message earlier in the day saying he was planning on attending the Crawley's gala with Governor Callen, so Thomas devised a plan to sneak out of his footman duties to meet him.

Making sure Mr. Carson's gaze was trained elsewhere, Thomas snuck a quick peak at the clock. It was seven thirty, and the gala was due to commence in an hour. The family were already starting to finish up dessert, and in order to get ready for the gala, the men wouldn't be conducting their usual brandy and cigars in the dining room while the ladies went through to the drawing room. Thomas looked up at the clock again. Seven thirty-one.

He poured Lord Grantham another glass of the dessert wine and waited for the dinner to finish.

* * *

_He looks quite uncomfortable, _Sybil thought as she nursed a flute of champagne, gazing at Cousin Matthew from across the room. He was in conversation with her father and Sir Antony Strallan, Grantham's Minister of Education, though judging by the way he kept gazing at Mary on the other side of the room, talking with Charles Blake on one of the open terraces, his mind was clearly on other things. _Perhaps I should go other there and save him_, she thought, but surely her father wouldn't allow it. There were too many people Cousin Matthew had to meet, and even an hour into the gala, he had not made it through half.

Because of the sheer of number of guests attending, and on the Empire's insistence, the event was being held not in their usual drawing room with a following dinner, but instead in the grand ballroom the family only used for state functions such as this. The room glittered under ten crystal chandeliers, and on one side of the room sat long tables of flutes of champagne – imported from Naboo, and various small dishes prepared by the ever-talented Mrs. Patmore and her team of kitchen maids.

"How are you holding up, my dear?" Her grandmother approached her, leaving heavily on her cane.

"Well enough, Granny," Sybil replied, gazing back at Cousin Matthew. He and her father had moved on to Lord Merton, the Minister of Agriculture. At least he was a little more animated and relaxed than Sir Antony Strallan.

"I do wish to be elsewhere," she confessed, though she didn't say where she'd rather be, not with so many Imperial soldiers milling about.

"You and me both," her grandmother replied, eying the ballroom. "That or expelling the Empire from this system completely," she added with a laugh, though her voice was low.

Out of all of the family, Violet Crawley was perhaps the most outspoken regarding the Empire – her and Mary, of course. Still, Sybil couldn't help but feel her heart leap to her throat when she said it, and instinctively looked around the room, making sure none of the Imperials were staring at them.

"Don't look over your shoulder, dear," Violet said with a knowing smile, gazing somewhere through the crowds. "That's how they win. By making you fearful in your own home."

A wave of comfort flowed through Sybil, renewing her confidence. Thankfully, all of the visiting Imperial officials seemed otherwise occupied. In fact, many seemed to have their gaze trained on Cousin Matthew

_Anxious to meet him, I suspect, _Sybil thought, narrowing her eyes at the Imperials. _Anxious to sniff out his loyalties. _That was the purpose of this whole gathering, Sybil realised. The Empire wanted the family to throw their new heir a grand gala not to welcome him into Granthinian society, but so that they could inspect him for the first time, surrounded by other Imperial soldiers and dignitaries. That and to make sure they weren't sowing the seeds of rebellion in Cousin Matthew already. But what was the Empire expecting? To catch one of them out by involving the new heir in the Rebellion so soon? If that were true, the Empire was more stupid than Sybil had previously thought. But the Empire wasn't stupid – far from it. Every move they made was cold and calculated, and their growing presence on the planet must be part of some growing scheme to test their loyalties.

Sybil took a long sip of her champagne, wanting to put the thoughts of the Empire out of her head. But it already seemed that wouldn't be the case, as a familiar young man in an Imperial Navy uniform approached her. She stopped her herself from narrowing her eyes.

Larry Grey, the elder son of Lord Merton who joined the Academy as soon as he came of age. When they were children, they used to play together on the grounds of the estate when his father was in meetings with hers. He'd been one of her only friends when Mary and Edith became too old for make-believe games, but they grew apart when Sybil learned more of her family's connections to the Rebellion and his fascination with the Empire grew. Still, he was keen on her, though Sybil wished he would put those feelings to rest.

"Oh, here we go," her grandmother muttered under her breath as Larry approached, getting a slight giggle out Sybil.

"Your Ladyship," Larry gave a slight bow to her grandmother, and then took Sybil by the wrist kissed her gently on the back of her gloved hand. "Lady Sybil."

"Larry," Sybil said, trying to remain cordial.

"Would you do me the honour of a dance?" he asked, gesturing to the wide marble dance floor.

Sybil held in a sigh. She didn't want to be rude, so she agreed with a nod. The pair of them drifted away from Violet to the center of the floor, where they started to sway back and forth to the music.

"I hope you and your family is doing well, despite your tragic loss," he said as they danced, and he even managed to sound sincere.

_Yes, a tragic loss that your Empire is responsible for, _Sybil thought bitterly. Instead, she said "This had been a trying time for all of us, but we're managing."

"Yes, I'm sorry for my absence at the memorial service, I was otherwise occupied."

_Spreading tyranny throughout the galaxy, no doubt. _Sybil clenched her teeth in order to bite back the jab. "The memorial was lovely," she managed before she could say something that would get her in trouble.

"And how is the new heir… this Mr. Matthew Crawley?" Larry asked with a sneer as he gazed over to Cousin Matthew, who was still talking with Lord Merton. "I'm sure _that _can't have made things any easier?"

No, it didn't, but Sybil suspected that was not what Larry meant by the remark. "What do you mean?" she asked, ready to defend her cousin.

"Well I mean… he isn't one of us. What does he know of Grantham and its people, or the role it plays in the Empire. He's a middle-class barrister for God's sake, he doesn't belong here."

Sybil felt her fingers dig into Larry's shoulders. "You've got a lot of nerve to say what you have just said, Larry," she fumed, but still managed to keep her voice low in order to avoid making a scene.

He looked positively offended. "Sybil, I don't mean to be rude, but I didn't think you so naïve. You must understand how unfit a man like Crawley is to govern the system –"

"As opposed to whom, Larry? You?" Sybil sighed, frustrated at the man before her. She could hardly even believe they used to be friends. "You, who claims to be loyal to our people all the while traveling around the galaxy extending the arm of oppression? I shan't take this from you, not as long as you're in _that _uniform." She dropped her arms from Larry, as if the very fabric of his uniform had given her an electric shock, turned on her heel, and rushed out of the ballroom.

She couldn't stand it. The Empire seemed to have its claws surrounding her, ready to pounce. How long would it be until it swallowed her whole?

* * *

"You certainly took your time," Abram Kel said with a smirk as Thomas approached him in the yard outside the estate's back service entrance. It was dangerous for the pair of them to be out here, to be sure, but it was dark enough so that anyone quickly glancing outside could mistake them for some sort of animal, and the fact that the vast majority of the staff were upstairs attending to the gala helped a great deal in their endeavor not to be seen.

"You know how Carson is," Thomas said, planting a quick kiss on Abram's lips. "He has eyes like a hawk's. It was almost impossible for me to slip away unnoticed." He took out two cigarettes from the pocket of his livery jacket, one for Abram and one for himself, and gave them both a light.

"You know we wouldn't have to sneak around like this if we both took off," Abram said, giving him a hopeful stare with those deep brown eyes Thomas loved so much. It wasn't the first time he suggested they run away, but Thomas wondered if he kept asking because Abram thought he would get a different answer. "We could start a new life, just the two of us on some quiet planet… Naboo, or Alderaan." Abram inched closer to Thomas until their lips touched.

The sound of a door opening interrupted their kissing, and Thomas quickly pulled Abram away from the entrance, until they were hiding behind a pile of chopped wood.

"I can't leave," Thomas said. "My life is in service…"

"Yes, and some day you dream of becoming butler to the all-mighty Crawleys," Abram finished with a slight eye-roll and a laugh. He teased Thomas, but it was true. He _did _aim to be butler of the estate, and this was long before he wanted to be His Lordship's valet, but that position was well and truly taken by Bates, no matter the number of times he'd tried to get the man sacked.

"It's not just me," Thomas reasoned, giving him a playful glare. "You'd be charged with treason for abandoning your position."

"That is _if _the Empire ever found me."

"I don't doubt they would," Thomas said. It was true, he'd heard of some officers who left the clutches of the Empire, but they always seemed to be found eventually, no matter how elusive they tried to be. There were rumours of the methods the Empire used to track its dissidents… rumours of Force-users, and men all clad in black –

"Do you really have such little faith in me, Thomas?" Abram laughed, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek.

Thomas smiled. "Of course, I have faith in you. I just think you're underestimating the power of the Empire."

"Oh, don't get sucked into all that Imperial propaganda nonsense. The Empire's grip on the galaxy isn't as strong as they have led people to believe," he said, with irritation in his voice. He pulled his knees to his chest.

"And you would know?" Thomas asked, gazing up the three moons and the thousands of stars floating across the sky. From down here, it certainly seemed as if the Empire had an iron grip on the galaxy, especially with the number of Imperial officials attending tonight's gala alone. "I didn't realize Governor Callen let you in on all of the Empire's secrets."

Abram laughed. "I may only be his aide, that means I get a peek at documents that would be considered above my pay grade. I can't help if someone wants to pay for that knowledge."

"Now _that _is treason." Thomas took a drag from his cigarette.

"Only if I get caught," Abram replied playfully, abandoning his cigarette to kiss Thomas once more. Thomas gripped Abram's dark uniform jacket, and he felt his own livery being tugged, as they pulled each other closer. But even as they blissfully kissed, Thomas couldn't help but think that Abram was being too brave for his own good, that one day he was going to get caught. For him, being the aide to the Imperial governor of Grantham was just a job, a means to help him get enough money to establish a life somewhere else. But it was more than that. Even if Abram didn't realize it, being in the Empire was his life, and they wouldn't let him go so easily.

* * *

It really was ghastly hot in the ballroom. And it wasn't as if Matthew himself was moving around a lot, but that others were moving around him in what felt like a mad frenzy. It was almost midnight, and by then he was sure he had met every Granthinian dignitary of consequence. And perhaps he'd worked himself up a bit too much, because he hadn't been subjected to the interrogation he'd thought he would be. Many of the Cabinet ministers still lamented the loss of James and Patrick, which didn't particularly bother him, though he could tell a few were weary of Matthew's arrival and new position even if they didn't outright say it.

Throughout the evening, he still found himself nervously looking at the Imperial officers present in the room, as if they were all spying on him, reading his lips. None of the dignitaries he met commented much on the Imperial presence in the ballroom, it was almost as if they had forgotten about it completely. And perhaps they had. Matthew still didn't know enough about Grantham to know when the Empire started building its presence on the planet, so it could be completely normal. Still, the dinners he had attended in the Downtown Abbey dining room seemed to suggest otherwise. None of the family said anything outright treasonous, not in front of him, which made it unclear to Matthew as to where their loyalties lied. He knew Governor Callen was expecting another sort of report on the goings on of the Crawley family, but he honestly didn't know what he could tell him. _"There's nothing going on, no treason here," _didn't seem the sort of message that would get the Empire off his back. Besides, why would they want Matthew to spy on his own family, under the threat of his life and that of his mother's if they had enough resources to keep Robert and his family in line? They were testing his loyalties, they must be. Making sure he was truly loyal to the Empire above all else. Above the rest of his family. The thought sat uneasy with him, making him want to escape the ballroom right then and there. Unfortunately, that wouldn't be possible as an all-too familiar figure in an olive-green Imperial uniform approached him and Robert.

"Your Lordship," Governor Callen said, though Matthew could tell there was a slight hint of resentment in his voice when he said the title. "I wanted to make sure I got a proper introduction with Mr. Crawley before the evening is out."

Robert cleared his throat. "Ah yes, of course. Matthew, this is Governor Jonas Callen." Matthew could detect the resentment in the earl's voice as well. "I don't believe you two have formally met."

Before Matthew could correct him, Governor Callen spoke for him. "No, I don't believe we have," he shot Matthew a knowing look. "It's a pleasure to meet the new heir at last."

It was a warning, Matthew realized, not to contradict him. "A pleasure," he replied, shaking the governor's hand. "Though, it seems so peaceful here on Grantham, one would wonder why there is a need for an Imperial governor at all." He knew the statement was dangerous, but Matthew needed to know what the Empire seemed to gain by keeping the system tight in their grip. The answer the governor would give him perhaps wouldn't be completely honest, but at least it was something.

Governor Callen's lips pulled into a thin smile, and he indulged Matthew's ignorance. "A mere formality," the governor replied haughtily. "As I'm sure you're well aware, Grantham is one of the most vital planets in the galaxy, providing food and raw materials for not just other planets but for the Imperial forces as well. The Empire knows the Crawley family are all well and capable of managing it themselves, though the Emperor feels it necessary to have some level of oversight on Grantham's operations. After all, with the amount of resources on the planet and with the Empire's reliance on them, they can become a target for _terrorist_ action."

_Of course, _Matthew thought, the Empire wanted to protect a planet so vital to the survival of their officers, but it also meant they could keep a closer eye on the Crawley's activities. And by getting Matthew to spy on his own family, they were only implanting themselves further into the inner workings of the planet. Though Matthew didn't know what the governor, Tarkin, or the rest of the Empire for that matter thought they would find.

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by the butler, Carson. "My Lord, the Dowager Countess is about to make her leave."

Robert nodded. "Thank you, Carson, I shall see to her." He shifted his gaze to Matthew and Governor Callen. "Excuse me, gentlemen."

Both nodded at the earl, and when Matthew turned to the governor again, he felt himself pale slightly. The governor grinned like he had an animal caught in a trap. "Why don't we get some air," he suggested, gesturing toward an uncovered terrace across the dance floor.

That side of the room was lined with them; several sets of floor-to-ceiling windows opened to terraces that led to the sprawling grounds and gardens at the back of the estate. Despite the company, Matthew was grateful to be led into the open air, where the cool breezes allowed him to breathe a bit better.

"Mr. Crawley, I do hope you haven't forgotten about our little arrangement," Governor Callen said, clasping his hands behind his back.

Matthew took it back, he wanted to be back inside again. But he quickly composed himself, he didn't want the governor to sense his anxiety.

"Since your arrival almost a week ago, you've sent me but one update on the Crawley family," the governor continued, his voice smooth and calm. "And not a very detailed one, at that."

Matthew's eyes narrowed. "Like you said, Governor, it's only been one week. Do allow some respite before I betray the trust of my family."

Governor Callen chuckled. "I do hope your loyalty to the Empire remains your _primary_ concern. We just want to make sure the other members of the Crawley family feel the same way."

_So, it _was_ about loyalties. _The Empire did have a reason to be suspicious of the Crawleys – but for what he did not know.

"I'm sure they do," Matthew said, in an attempt to end this conversation.

Governor Callen scoffed at his statement. "I hope they do. For their sake and for yours." He made to leave the terrace, when he turned on his heel, facing Matthew from the entrance and flashed him a sickly grin. "Grand Moff Tarkin sends his regards, he was otherwise occupied this evening."

It was then Matthew realized how cold it was outside and found himself pulling his suit jacket closer towards his body.

"But he looks forward to hearing from you in the future."

* * *

_Where in God's name did Sybil run off to?_

Mary's eyes darted around the grand ballroom, trying to find her sister. Edith was discussing something about the _Verdant _or flying or whatever, but she was only half-paying attention. If she had a choice, being Edith's discussion partner at a gala such as this would definitely not be her first. But, as it turned out Charles Blake had to run off to prepare a few documents for their upcoming senate meeting and she most certainly didn't want to end up discussing _anything_ with any of their Imperial guests or any of her father's ministers, and her grandmother had gone home for the night, so Edith it was.

The last she'd seen of Sybil was when she was on the arm of that traitorous Larry Grey, and then she was gone. Mary was constantly telling her to not run off at functions such as this, but her youngest sister seemed determined stretch her patience. The number of guests may be to their benefit, however. Hopefully no one else had noticed the youngest Crawley daughter had gone missing.

"Mary? Mary, are you listening to me?"

Mary snapped from her thoughts, focusing now on her sister. "Sorry, I was distracted. What did you say?"

"Governor Callen seems to be quite taken with Cousin Matthew," Edith said, nodding at something behind her.

Mary's head jolted, and she spotted Cousin Matthew talking rather closely with the governor. She narrowed her eyes at the pair as they made their way to a terrace, no doubt to get a little more privacy. One could be so easily overheard at a party such as this. She fought the urge to walk over there and break up that little conversation herself.

"Or perhaps it's the other way around," Mary sneered, turning back to her sister and talking a sip of champagne.

"Well, they could just be making polite conversation."

Mary rolled her eyes. _Edith, ever the optimist. _If Mary didn't know any better, she would've guessed Edith had a little crush on Matthew, the way she always smiled like a schoolgirl whenever he entered the room or always flirted with him at dinner. And it was true, Cousin Matthew wasn't a bad-looking fellow. He even might be handsome. Her father, of course, would push marriage between the two of them, as he had with Cousin Patrick, but there was no way that was going to happen. She trusted Cousin Matthew about as much as a Jawa could throw an astro-droid.

"If they were making polite conversation, they wouldn't be retreating to the corner of the room," Mary said finally, taking another sip of champagne.

Edith sighed. "Do give Cousin Matthew a break, Mary, he only just got here –"

"I'm not so quick to trust strangers," Mary snapped. "You shouldn't be either."


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely readers!
> 
> I hope you all are staying safe, washing your hands, and social distancing. Thank you, of course, for supporting and following this story and leaving lovely comments, I really appreciate it. 
> 
> Enjoy!

When Matthew was a boy, he and this mother and father would take vacations to planets not unlike Grantham. Planets ruled by wide-open spaces, rolling green hills, vast oceans, and a lush variety of flora. Some had beaches, some were laced in a tropical heat, but they were all very different from life on Coruscant. It was as if the whole planet stood still, holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. In the early hours of the morning, his father would bring him to the nearest hill, and they'd sit together to watch the sun rise. The sky would burn bright red and fade into pale blue, and there were never any skyscrapers or aircraft blocking their view.

It was only Matthew, his father, and the sky.

"I grew up on a planet not unlike this one," his father had told him during one of these times. Matthew had been young, perhaps eight or nine, holding his father's hand as they walked along an open field bathed in the red light of a rising sun.

"Really?" Matthew replied.

His father nodded. "Yes, a planet called Grantham, it's actually not far from Coruscant."

"Why did you leave?"

"Because… there were more opportunities to pursue my career on Coruscant."

Matthew was unsatisfied. "I would have stayed there… where I could run all day long." He made a show of speeding off down the hill and back up again to his father.

His father laughed, picking Matthew up into his arms. "Think of it this way. If I hadn't left Grantham, I never would have met your mother, and you wouldn't have been born."

"I guess that's a good reason," Matthew conceded. "But I'd still like to run all day!" He jumped out of his father's arms and once again bolted down the hill.

Remembering these conversations sent a wave of nostalgia through Matthew as Robert took him across the vast lands behind the estate that led to an almost never-ending field of gold wheat. Further in the distance resided an elevated landing platform, large enough to house at least two Imperial Star Destroyers, by the looks of it. It had a number of ramps and staircases, as well as multiple lifts to transport the produce to the aircraft.

"Most of the planet's wheat is grown and harvested here," Robert said, jolting Matthew from his thoughts. "Though there are multiple wheat fields all over Grantham."

"Is that why the estate was established here?" Matthew pondered.

Robert smiled at him. "Yes, that's exactly it. In the early days of the Crawley reign, wheat was Grantham's most important export, and the industry that needed the most workers. Establishing Downton close to these fields came out of that necessity to oversee the wheat harvests."

"And what of Grantham's other industries? Lumber, produce, cattle, and the like?"

"I'm glad you've done your research," Robert beamed.

"You mean you're glad you have a new heir that's not completely clueless."

Immediately, Robert stopped his walk and looked seriously at Matthew. "That's not what I meant –"

"I know that's not what you meant, Robert," Matthew sighed. "But it must be what you're feeling… what you _all _are feeling."

Robert considered him for a moment. "Matthew, did anyone give you the impression that you're not fit for the task last night at the gala? Because let me make clear, that's certainly _not _how I feel."

Matthew shook his head. "No, nothing like that… but perhaps _I _feel as if I don't deserve all this. I mean, I'm just someone who got lucky and now I'm intruding into your family and your planet…" he trailed off, feelings of shame burning through him. _And not to mention, I'm supposed to be spying on you for the Empire, _he added mentally, wanting nothing more than to retreat back to his room at Crawley House. But even that did nothing to help his feelings. He was living on Grantham out of the good graces of someone he had never met until a month ago, and whose family was expected to give up the reins of Grantham to him.

"Matthew…" Robert said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It is not a question of what is or isn't deserved, it simply just _is_. I told you when we first met, we are a people bounded by tradition, and my family as well as the rest of Grantham knows that. So, you don't have to feel guilty about becoming the heir. What happened to James and Patrick was a tragedy, but if we dwell on the past and what could have been, we'll never progress. We must all do our duty, for the continuation of Grantham and its way of life. My family understands that."

A lump formed in Matthew's throat, once again thinking of Governor Callen's threats. It was his duty to protect his mother from the wrath of the Empire, but he was now bound to the governance of Grantham, and the family that ran it – _his _family.

He was surprised he felt this sort of connection to the Crawleys already, even though Cousin Mary had practically been staring daggers at him since his arrival – and Cousin Violet and Cousin Cora weren't all that pleased either – but they were still his family, as odd as it was to admit it. Perhaps it was because of the threat of the Imperials that loomed over him, perhaps he just wanted to prove Governor Callen and Grand Moff Tarkin wrong – that the Crawleys truly weren't suspicious or a threat to the Empire. If he could do that, the Empire might just leave him alone, perhaps even leave Grantham alone. But then he recalled Governor Callen's words from the previous night – Grantham and its resources were considered too valuable to the galaxy to ever be left to their own devices, no matter that the planet had been completely autonomous during the days of the Republic. The Empire needed their iron grip to extend to even the most peaceful of planets – it's how they had survived as long as they had.

"Thank you for your confidence, Robert," Matthew finally said, a bit sheepishly. "I don't know if I deserve it."

Robert simply waved him off. "Now, even though our exports are harvested all over the planet, they all go through this port for a final inspection by both our Agricultural Ministry and Imperial officials and then gets picked up by our aircraft or Imperial aircraft. Mostly Imperial aircraft these days."

"Imperial officials conduct inspections of your exports?"

"Rigorously," Robert replied, a hint of resentment in his voice. "Anything going to feed the Imperial Navy or Imperial Forces must be kept to the highest standards."

"And what of exports not bound for Imperial use?"

"Inspections for contraband, mostly. Or the occasional defector. More than once an imperial soldier has tried to steal himself away among boxes of wheat or fruit or the like… it doesn't end well for them."

Matthew clenched his jaw, needing no further explanation. He gazed up at the massive landing platform – devoid of any aircraft now except for a few small shuttles – and tried not to imagine Imperial defectors being dragged down the ramp of a ship and being shot right then and there. For a split second, he saw himself dragged out, pushed to his knees…

He shook his head, forcing the thought away.

"I scheduled a few days for us to take the _Verdant _to visit the other areas of interest on Grantham; the lumber mills, farms, water treatment plants," Robert continued. They were making their way back to the grounds of the estate, the landing platform slowly receding in the distance. "I do hope you're not too busy with your job." He raised his eyebrow, giving Matthew a knowing grin.

Matthew chuckled. "I'm sure they'll give me some time off for this," he replied.

"They better, and if not, tell them the order came straight from me."

"Don't worry, Robert. I'm sure I can persuade them by myself."

* * *

"So, where did you run off to last night?"

The question caught Sybil off guard, so much so that she almost dropped the clasps of the necklace she and Gwen were putting around her neck. Thankfully, the maid caught the delicate necklace just in time to stop it before it slid down the front of her dress. Sybil gave Gwen a silent "thank you" through the mirror.

She and her sisters were getting ready for dinner, and this time they come to Sybil's room instead of the usual congregation in Mary's room. She had to admit, it surprised her when her eldest sister strode into her room not thirty minutes after the dinner gong had been rung, closely followed by Edith. She was only thankful that she hadn't been practicing with the Force – or with her grandmother's lightsaber, for that matter – when they had entered. She was really smarter about these things than her parents gave her credit for. It seemed as if they were constantly worried about her slipping up, revealing something, and in a way Sybil herself shared those fears. Revealing herself as Force-sensitive wouldn't just have devastating consequences for her, but for her entirely family, even those who were in ignorance of the whole thing. Still, on nights when she couldn't sleep, when all the servants had long gone to bed, she practiced moving the silver hairbrush that sat on her vanity to her bed, back to the vanity, and to the tall wardrobe that sat against the opposite wall. It was calming, letting the Force flow through her, feeling in control of such a simple object and yet having a power few people possessed, a power considered treasonous to the Empire…

In a way, it was her own sort of rebellion. While the rest of her family overlooked supplies and food bound for Rebel Alliance bases, participated in Alliance missions, and resisted the tyranny of the Empire in the Senate, Sybil was honing the powers of an almost-extinct group of peacekeepers that once fought for freedom and justice. A group her own grandmother once belonged to.

"Because I thought I told you not to run off during events like last night's gala," Mary continued chastising Sybil once Gwen left the room. "What do you think it looks like, to the Imperial officials attending? It looks like we don't care about their presence, which thus is perceived as opposition to the Empire, which is _treason_."

Sybil couldn't help but roll her eyes. _Really, Mary, I'm more of a danger in the presence of Imperial soldiers than I am somewhere else, _she wanted to tell her sister. _One flash of a moment without thinking and I could condemn this entire family. _Instead, she said, "If you must know, I had a rather unpleasant encounter with Larry Grey. He said some nasty remarks about Cousin Matthew, and I couldn't listen to him any longer."

"What did he say?" Edith asked, earning her a glare from Mary.

Sybil sighed. "He said Cousin Matthew doesn't belong, that he's unfit to govern Grantham. That's he's not one of us."

"Well, he's not all wrong," Mary seethed.

"Mary, how can you say such a thing?" Sybil cried, glaring at her sister through the mirror. "You know just as well as I do that those remarks don't mean a thing coming from someone like Larry Grey."

"No, of course not," Mary conceded, crossing her arms. "But it's true he's not one of us. He could be an Imperial loyalist for all we know."

"Mary, I don't think he is," Edith said.

"And how would you know?" Mary shot back.

Sybil interjected herself between her sisters before a row could well and truly commence. "Look, it is what it is. And eventually Papa's going to have to tell Matthew about the Rebellion. Obviously not right away, but Cousin Matthew is the heir, and he can't become the Earl of Grantham and not know about everything."

"Well, not if I have anything to say about it," Mary snapped.

"God, Mary, you can be such a hypocrite, you know that?" Sybil exclaimed, turning from the mirror to face her eldest sister. Her hands were turning white from gripping the back of her chair.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, you go on and on about how I put this whole family in danger by leaving parties too early, and yet you're protesting Cousin Matthew becoming the new heir, even when both Mama and Papa and even Granny have insisted it be so for the safety of this family."

When Mary didn't retort with any of her usual snipes about being older and therefore more knowledgeable about the ways of the galaxy, Sybil continued. "Now, everyone's most likely already in the drawing room, let's not make them wait any longer."

* * *

There had definitely been a row before the girls had come down to the drawing room, Violet thought as she ate the course of buttered sole and roasted asparagus served by William and Thomas. Mary wasn't conducting her usual interrogation of Cousin Matthew, Sybil's brow was furrowed in an angry state throughout the dinner, and Edith seemed to be avoiding the eye of both her sisters.

It probably had to do with Cousin Matthew. Or the Rebellion. Or both. All of the family's arguments since James and Patrick seemed to revolve around those two issues. But even so, Violet couldn't say she wasn't still weary of Cousin Matthew and Cousin Isobel. For one, Cousin Isobel seemed too eager to get involved with the running of Grantham's hospitals. And though she claimed it was because of her career on Coruscant as a nurse, Violet thought she was moving much too quickly. Robert didn't seem to think so, however. As she had entered the drawing room before dinner, Violet could have sworn she'd overheard something from Robert about making Cousin Isobel co-chairwoman of the Board of Hospitals, a position Violet herself had long occupied. Imagine that! A perfect stranger such as Isobel Crawley given such a great responsibility. They didn't know what Isobel did in the background, who she colluded with. For all they knew, she could be reporting back to Governor Callen about the goings-on of their family. Violet had a right mind to explain this to Robert, though she feared he wouldn't listen.

Robert himself had certainly warmed up to Matthew Crawley. Perhaps it was because he longed for some sense of security for the future of the estate and the planet, and he thought Cousin Matthew filled that requirement. Perhaps it was because he thought Cousin Matthew could be a replacement to James and Patrick. Violet couldn't fool herself into thinking that, and she wouldn't let her son think that, either. There was no replacement for James and Patrick.

And that was precisely the problem.

"I showed Cousin Matthew the wheat fields this morning," Robert said in between forkfuls of fish. "And the transport dock."

"Yes, there's a lot more to it than I originally thought," Cousin Matthew confessed, a little sheepishly.

"Of course, feeding the galaxy is not just a weekend job," Mary remarked and her usual bitter tone.

_Now she seemed back to her old self, _Violet thought, smirking ever so slightly.

"I didn't mean it that way," Cousin Matthew said easily. "I just meant that the intricacy of it all astounds me. That a planet like Grantham has been providing so much food, lumber, and resources for almost the entire galaxy for thousands of years is certainly quite a feat."

"Hear, hear. Well said," Cousin Isobel chimed it, raising her wine glass.

"Does she always feel the need to insert her opinion on every matter?" Violet whispered to her son seated beside her.

Robert acknowledged her comment with a slight glare and turned back to Cousin Matthew, who was seated across the table beside Mary. "And we hope it should stay that way."

Violet didn't know if that remark was intended to be a warning to Cousin Matthew or to the rest of them, but Robert didn't need to remind _her _of the facts. She knew more than the rest of them what exactly was at stake, even if Robert didn't.

The family finally seemed to leave the topic of inheritances and exports behind until dessert was served, when Cousin Isobel commented on the lemon tartlet Mrs. Patmore had made.

"My, this is delicious," she said, as if she had never tasted lemon before in her life. "But I thought Grantham's climate was too temperate to grow lemons."

"What a scholar we have in our midst," Violet smiled down at her plate, scooping a forkful of the tartlet into her mouth. She once again earned a glare from her son. She shrugged it off.

"Yes, Grantham's climate is too cold for lemons and oranges and so on," Cora said, "but we get them imported from Naboo, along with champagne, tea, coffee, chocolate, and such."

"We give them wheat and cattle, they give us lemons," Mary said matter-of-factly.

"Grantham has numerous trade agreements with planets and systems all over the galaxy," Robert explained. "It's how everything can run so smoothly. They're all managed by myself, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Ministry of Agriculture, and the Empire, of course, since they oversee everything that leaves our docks."

"Speaking of the Empire," Mary started, "I'm afraid I must go to Coruscant in the coming days. There's a Senate meeting Charles and I simply cannot miss, and of course all the Empire Day festivities demand the presence of Senate members."

Violet could detect the slightest hint of resentment in her granddaughter's voice.

"Right, yes, of course," Robert said in a more dower tone. "I had almost forgotten."

"Don't let Governor Callen hear you say that," Mary said, an eyebrow raised and raising her wine glass to her lips.

_Don't let Isobel Crawley hear you say that, _Violet added mentally.

"Perhaps I could come with you," Cousin Matthew said. "I could show you our old apartment and a few good places to eat, if you ever get sick of the food served at the Senate building."

"Would your work spare you the time?" Edith asked.

"It's not too busy at the firm," Cousin Matthew explained. "I only have a few cases open at the moment, and due to their nature they're slow-moving."

"A wonderful suggestion, Cousin Matthew," Mary replied haughtily. "But I'm afraid I'll be much too busy to have anytime to myself."

"Do say hello to Senator Organa for me, Mary," Violet said, not wanting to draw out the awkwardness Mary's last remark would have brought onto the dinner table. "I missed him at James and Patrick's memorial service."

"Of course, Granny."

Violet managed to corner Mary later when the ladies had gone through the dining room to the drawing room.

"Do you think you might be able to find out what James and Patrick discovered, when you're on Coruscant?" She asked in hushed tones. The two of them were stood in the corner of the room near the fireplace. Carson and Thomas were delivering glasses of sherry to the other ladies across the room, and from Violet's point of vision she was able to see through the slightly ajar door for her son and Cousin Matthew. No doubt Robert would disapprove of what she was asking of Mary, but she assumed the rest of the family was just as curious as she was about their cousins' untimely demise at the hands of the Empire. She knew Mary would certainly be interested, perhaps interested enough to sniff out the rumour mill among the rest of the Rebellion-friendly senators.

At the proposal, Mary's eyes widened, shifting her gaze to the rest of the ladies to make sure they were deep in conversation, and not paying them any attention. "Granny, I can't simply walk up to the Emperor and interrogate him about Cousin James and Cousin Patrick. Or any other Imperial official, for that matter."

Violet shook her head. "I'm not asking you to, dear. What I'm saying is that other interested parties may have heard something about it besides what's being reported on the holonews."

Mary nodded slowly, understanding what she meant.

"Senator Mon Mothma is very clever, you know. And of course, Senator Organa of all people may know something," Violet said in a lighter tone, appearing as if to make idle conversation.

"I agree, Granny," Mary replied.

"Then it's settled. Just be careful, dear. That Senate building could have spies lurking around every corner."

Mary smirked. "You don't have to tell me twice."

* * *

"Was dinner alright?" Gwen asked later that evening as she removed all of the pins from Sybil's hair and placed them in a silver jewelry box. "Only, just as I was leaving it seemed as if Lady Mary was cross."

"She was, rather," Sybil sighed. "But she's always cross these days, and she needs someone to take it out on. Cousin Matthew, Edith, me…" despite herself, she let out a small laugh.

"But I thought with the big Senate meeting and Empire Day, Lady Mary could concentrate on her work," Gwen reasoned, pulling the last of the pins out. Sybil's chestnut hair fell down her back in loose curls and she ran a few fingers through it to get it detangled.

"She does that too," Sybil said. _But her work is part of the reason she's cross, _she mentally added, longing to tell Gwen everything about what was truly happening with the family. She's imagined telling the maid about her family's relationship with the Rebel Alliance for some time, and she suspected Gwen at least had an inkling of her family's opinion on the Empire, but she could never bring herself to tell her. All her life, her parents had instilled the gravity of the consequences should anyone ever find out her family's role in the Rebellion, even those who were considered their most trusted friends.

"All it takes is for one person to know, the _wrong _person, and the truth finds its way to the ears of our enemies," her father would say. Of course, it all became more serious when they'd discovered Sybil was Force-sensitive. From then on it wasn't just the Rebellion they were protecting, but a person whom it was considered treason to shelter.

Still, Gwen was a best friend to Sybil, and though she shared more secrets with her elder sisters, she felt as if she could tell anything to Gwen. In a better world, she would be able to.

"Where is that hairbrush?" Gwen asked, jolting Sybil from her thoughts. She was looking across the table of the vanity for the engraved silver hairbrush Sybil had received as a gift for her thirteenth birthday from her grandmother.

Sybil checked the small drawers of the vanity, but the brush was nowhere to be found. Her eyes suddenly darted to the top of her wardrobe, and sure enough the brush was there laid against a painted vase. She must have forgotten to move it back to the vanity last night.

"One of the maids must have put it up there," she lied smoothly, getting up from the plush vanity stool and making her away across the room to the wardrobe. Sybil let out an annoyed huff. If she were alone she could easily get the brush down herself, but there was no way she could do it with Gwen in the room, as much as she wished she could.

"Uh, Gwen, are you able to reach it? I'm afraid I'm too short," Sybil said, hoping the maid didn't suspect anything.

"I don't know if I can, milady," Gwen said. "I'm not much taller than you." She reached up to grab the brush, but her fingers couldn't reach past the top of the doors. Instead, Gwen grabbed the vanity stool and placed it in front of the doors and stood up on it. Her feet were up on the edge of the stool, on the tips of her toes, and the stool seemed like it was starting to wobble.

"Gwen, be careful–" Sybil started but it was too late. The stool tipped forward, and brush in hand Gwen started to fall backward towards the floor. Without thinking, Sybil pushed her arms out as if to catch her, but Gwen's body didn't topple against hers. Instead, in remained suspended in mid-air, floating face-up a few feet from the ground.

_Oh no, _Sybil realized, eyes wide. _No._

Immediately she felt the urge to pull back, to retract her Force powers. But she hesitated. If she did that, she would hurt Gwen. Instead, Sybil allowed the maid to gently float towards the ground until she was in a sitting position on the carpet.

The silence between them lasted forever.

Gwen just stared at her, eyes wide, gripping the hairbrush so tight it seemed as she could snap it in half.

"Gwen, I–"

"What was that?"

Sybil blinked. She didn't know what to say. Somehow, she eventually opened her mouth to speak, but not words came out.

"Was that…" Gwen trailed off, still sitting on the floor too stunned to move an inch. "Are you…"

So, she pieced it together. Sybil almost let out a breath of relief. She didn't even know if she could make the words "Force" or "Jedi" leave her mouth. Instead, she nodded in confirmation.

"I've only heard about them through stories about the Old Republic, but that's all they were – bedtime stories," Gwen continued, her voice almost a whisper. "I never thought they were real. But you are one of them? A Jedi?"

At that, Sybil shook her head adamantly. "I'm not a…" she trailed off, sitting down beside Gwen on the floor. Quickly, she eyed hat box she kept underneath her bed, the hat box that contained her grandmother's lightsaber. Sybil could feel the pull of the Force that connected her to the object, but she forced herself to look away, hoping Gwen wouldn't follow her gaze.

"I'm not a Jedi," Sybil continued. "I'm only Force-sensitive. But Gwen, you mustn't tell anybody, not a soul, promise me. If Governor Callen or any other Imperial officer finds out the whole family would be tried for treason. Promise me, you won't tell anyone."

Gwen nodded her head. "Of course, I promise."

Sybil smiled warmly at her friend and pulled her into a tight hug. She could tell Gwen was more than a little stunned by the action, but quickly threw her arms around Sybil, pulling her in a little closer. Everything in her heart told Sybil that she could trust her friend, that she wouldn't betray her family, that she wouldn't betray _her. _But there was a reason Sybil hadn't even told her own sisters about her Force sensitivity, a reason instilled in her by her parents for almost ten years now. Mary would always tell Sybil she could never understand the value of the Rebellion's mission, because she was born into a galaxy in which the Empire had already been established. She never knew what it was like to live in a free galaxy, under a democracy. But Mary was wrong. It was perhaps Sybil who knew the most out of any of her family what it was like to live in fear, to be forced to hide a part of who you are just to survive.

Even as the two friends embraced, Sybil couldn't help but gaze at the hatbox under her bed, and wonder if she had just doomed her family.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! 
> 
> I hope you all are remaining safe, washing your hands, and social distancing. If you are taking part in the Black Lives Matter protests around the world, I applaud you and again hope you are remaining as safe as possible. 
> 
> Thank you for your continued support, your comments, and kudos; they mean a lot. Once again, I hope you are all remaining safe and enjoy!

Contrary to what most of her family believed, Mary loved the city planet of Coruscant.

She despised the government that inhabited it, but that somehow couldn't stop the rush of exhilaration she felt every time the _Verdant _descended into the planet's atmosphere and was suddenly surrounded by hundreds of aircraft traveling the skies with them. She loved the business of it all, how she could walk the streets, and no one would know who she was. Grantham was quiet and calm. But Coruscant was energetic, fast-paced, active.

For the smallest moment, Mary felt a tinge of jealousy for Cousin Matthew having grown up in the heart of it all, but she quickly suppressed the feeling. No, Cousin Matthew was a stranger, she reminded herself as Captain Branson eased the _Verdant _onto the Senate Building's landing bay. She could not trust him. Not yet.

"Let's get this over with, shall we?" Charles Blake said beside her, rising from his seat and made his way toward the ship's entrance.

Mary sighed, gathered her holopad and all but shoved into her messenger bag. "It's a wonder Palpatine continues to hold Senate meetings," she thought aloud, following Charles. "Given that he never attends them, and none of the legislation passed by the Senate is even implemented. Remember we managed to get a majority vote to pass that bill on the redistribution of aid to the mining planets? When Sybil traveled to Kessel for a relief mission a few months ago, she told me the conditions of the miners had not improved, that they were still barely surviving off their own resources. It's painfully obvious the Senate no longer has any _actual _power – it's just a show so that the planets _think _they still have power. Even some of the other senators are still blind to it all."

Charles stopped abruptly in the middle of the _Verdant_'s halls and gave Mary a serious look. "Where did all this come from? Just the other night at the gala you were so determined to set forth our new bill. You did, however, half-devise a scheme to escape Imperial Plaza before the Empire Day festivities."

Mary let out a small laugh, but shook her head. "I just have a lot on my mind."

"It is about your Cousin Matthew? About the inheritance issue?" Charles asked gently.

Mary nodded, letting him believe that was the start and end of it. But of course, it wasn't just Cousin Matthew. It was the fact that surely the Empire was watching the whole family more closely than ever, just waiting for one of them to slip up and reveal their true allegiances. It was the fact that her grandmother had asked her to look into the deaths of Cousin James and Cousin Patrick, to ask around the other Alliance senators as to whether they had heard anything about it that went against the Empire's narrative. It was the fact that she had to do all this during a time when the Imperial presence on the planet was at its height. It all made her stomach churn uncomfortably.

"I remember when you were first elected five years ago, you were the youngest senator of your time. You were so determined to put the galaxy to rights. It seemed as if you could do it all with one speech." Charles smiled, reminiscent of the times when everything seemed simpler.

_Had it all been simpler?_

"I believed it then, too," Mary confessed. How naïve she had been.

"But you shouldn't stop believing it, Mary," Charles said, taking her hands in his. She felt her heart leap to her throat.

"We can change the Empire," he continued. "And once we stop believing that, they have already won."

Mary squeezed Charles's hand and nodded. "Let's give them hell, shall we?"

* * *

As Mary expected, there was an enormous military presence on the grounds of the Imperial Plaza. Squadrons of Stormtroopers, officers of the Imperial Navy, and governors all occupied the grounds. She had to stop herself from glaring at them all. It was not right, to have the Senate and the armed forces mix – Coruscant nor any other planet in the galaxy was a police state, although she was sure the likes of Palpatine wouldn't object to it.

With her head held high, Mary clutched her bag a little tighter and marched toward the main Senate building. Above her, hundreds of spacecraft hummed through the air, making a peaceful sound that Mary had always found so comforting. Compared to Coruscant, the skies of Grantham seemed so empty, hollow, as if devoid of life. In the distance, the imposing Imperial Palace loomed, casting a dark shadow against all of the buildings it surrounded. Those grounds had previously housed the Jedi Temple, or so according to her father. He'd said the Jedi were once a powerful group of peacekeepers, whose strength and resources spanned the entire galaxy. Mary narrowed her eyes. If the Jedi were as powerful as her father said, then they should have been able to stop the Emperor's rise to power.

Mary pulled her gaze from the Imperial Palace and focused her mind on her senatorial duties. As she and Charles passed the overbearing statue of Emperor Palpatine, she stopped herself from slowing her pace and gazing up at the marble figure that stood at least fifteen feet above her. That was what they all wanted – the Empire wanted the senators to cower in fear of the Emperor – to submit to the power of the Imperial Navy and Imperial governors.

Mary would not let herself do such a thing.

Charles was right – she still had the power to bring down the Empire, slowly but surely. The Rebellion, her family – it was more power than Charles even realized she possessed.

The sight of familiar faces in the senate halls allowed for some reprieve in all the tension. Before Mary and Charles entered their designated Senate pod, she caught the sight of Senator Bail Organa and Senator Mon Mothma, who were having an intimate discussion in hushed tones. Mary motioned for Charles to go on ahead, and she approached the pair of senators, hyper-aware of the eyes of Imperial officials on her.

"I hope your journeys were pleasant, senators," Mary said cordially with a nod of her head. Both Bail and Mon Mothma greeted her with a smile, though she could tell they had just been discussing something dower.

"Very well, thank you, Lady Mary," Bail replied, his hands clasped behind his back. "Though I practically had to wrestle Leia off me. She's been begging me for years to take her to these Senate meetings."

Princess Leia of Alderaan was only sixteen – Sybil's age, and from the sound of it so much like her. Her youngest sister could be so insistent, especially when it came to the relief missions. Almost nothing could dissuade her from backing down, save for their parents. Mary could remember more than a few times however, when Sybil had attempted to go through with a particularly dangerous relief mission anyway, and she would have gotten away with it were it not for Captain Branson's fear of losing his job. She hoped Sybil hadn't taken it out on the pilot.

"Your Leia should meet my sister, Sybil," Mary said with a smile. "I fear they'd get on a little too well." Yes, Mary had a feeling Sybil and Leia would be good friends, were they ever to meet.

"Well, we're having our senatorial elections later this year," Bail continued. "Leia is planning on running for the job."

"Would you be running against each other?" Mary asked with a small laugh.

"Good heavens, no," Bail laughed. "I shall not be seeking re-election at the end of my term. I have decided to place my efforts solely on other matters." He did his best to hide any emotion, but Mary picked up the slightest of a knowing look from the senator.

"Ah, well, we shall miss your presence in the Senate," Mary said. "And I'm sure your daughter will make a fine senator, should she be elected."

Bail nodded his head in a silent 'thank you'.

"Oh, Lady Mary," Mon Mothma began, "I must apologize for not sending a message sooner, but I'm terribly sorry for the loss of your cousins. Such a tragedy."

"Thank you," Mary said gratefully. She didn't want to bring up the subject on her own, and she was glad Mon Mothma had brought it up herself. "That does remind me, my Grandmother the Dowager Countess told me to pass along her regard, and –"

Suddenly, a light bell chimed throughout the halls, signalling that the Senate meeting would begin in five minutes.

"We three must have a proper catch-up. This evening, if possible."

The other two senators nodded, and then parted ways to join their respective delegations in the Senate auditorium. Mary breathed in slowly, and prayed she would get answers surrounding the deaths of Cousin James and Cousin Patrick. But for now, she just had to get through a Senate meeting.

* * *

As expected, Mas Amedda had barely given Charles and Mary twenty minutes to discuss their new bill in the senate chambers, though she was surprised to receive shouts of approval from not only her allies in the Rebellion, but from numerous representatives from workers' unions as well. Their bill aimed to require arms manufacturers making weapons for the Imperial Armed Forces like Blastech to be more transparent about what exactly they were manufacturing. It was an ambitious bill, to be sure, and one that would likely never receive the Emperor's approval. But if Mary could as least get their fellow systems to consider the secrecy the Imperials kept surrounding their weapons manufacturing, it might at least drive some Rebel sympathy.

"Thank you, Lady Mary Crawley and Charles Blake, representing Grantham," Mas Amedda drawled from the centre of the room, clearly ready to move on. "Now, as most of you may be aware, there have been a rash of incidents involving pirates seizing spacecraft bound for relief missions. Most notably a recent incident involving James and Patrick Crawley, the heirs to the Grantham system."

Mary's head jolted up from her bag as she was packing away her holopad, and she leaned a little closer to the centre of the room. As the names of her cousins were spoken by the mouthpiece for the Imperial machine, her hands clenched the arms of her chair.

"As decreed by His Imperial Majesty Emperor Palpatine," Mas Amedda continued, "all relief missions will now be restricted."

A loud murmur made its way through the senate chamber, but no one dared speak up. Many senators had learned that lesson long ago. Mary gazed over at the pod housing the Alderaan delegation, and Bail shot her a weary look.

"They will require prior Imperial approval and a representative conducting the mission must submit an itinerary, flight plan, and manifest of cargo being transported. Some missions may have to submit more information at the Empire's discretion. That concludes the items for today's meeting."

Mary let out a frustrated sigh and leaned back against her chair. Sybil wouldn't be happy about this.

Beside her, Charles shook his head as he packed away his holopad. "Is there nothing in which the Empire won't meddle?"

"No…" Mary said. "But I think that's the point."

"Well, we've said our piece, and by the looks of it we've acquired some new sympathizers. A small win is still a win." Charles gave her an encouraging smile as they left the senate chamber.

But to Mary it didn't feel like a win. It seemed as though every time she took a step forward, the Empire was determined to push her five steps back.

* * *

The sun had long set and spacecraft lit the sky like stars when Mary left her senate apartment and hired a speeder to take her a half hour away from the city's core to a small bar nestled between a steel mill and an abandoned garment factory. With a simple glance, one might not even notice it wedged between two more imposing structures, which made it perfect for Mary and her fellow allies to meet without fear of being watched or overheard by Imperial officials.

Of course, Mary would much prefer discussing these matters in her senate apartment than in some seedy bar far from the comforts of the city, but she was convinced the Imperials had all of the senate apartments bugged, and neither she nor her allies in the Rebel Alliance could take that risk. Besides, the pub had served them faithfully for years, so much so that Mary had started to feel a sense of comfort surrounded by the smell of old cooking oil and watered-down beer. Her grandmother would perhaps faint at the sight of her eldest granddaughter in a place like this, but it allowed her to continue her fight for the Rebellion at the very heart of the Imperial's grip on the galaxy, and that was all that mattered.

Soon after Mary took a seat in a booth in the far corner of the pub and ordered a glass of Nabooian wine, she spotted Bail Organa making his way towards her. Gone were his flowing blue senatorial robes, replaced with simple brown slacks, shirt, and a flight jacket. Mon Mothma entered soon after, also devoid of her usual bright white robes. Instead she opted for long weather-proof boots, black slacks, and a flowing tunic. It would be hard to convince any of her fellow patrons they were three Imperial senators instead of a misfit flight crew planning their next job.

"The Imperial's restrictions on relief missions certainly imposes difficulties for us," Bail said, getting straight to the point. Clearly no one was in the mood for small talk. _Good, _Mary thought. She still needed to find out what her cousins had achieved on their mission – if they had achieved anything. Both thoughts made a lump form in her throat.

"It's almost certain they're imposing these restrictions because of James and Patrick," Mary said in a low voice. "They essentially said as much when they announced it in the senate chamber." She took a breath. "Which begs the question… what did my cousins discover on their mission? Whatever it was, it must have been important enough to destroy any witnesses. They were headed to the Kuat Drive Yards, correct?"

Mon Mothma nodded. "Yes, that's correct. James and Patrick Crawley did indeed carry out a small relief mission to the Outer Rim using the _Starbeam_, and on their way back to Yavin they obtained access to an Imperial cargo shuttle on Eadu to fly to the Yards."

Mary's brow furrowed. This was the first she was hearing about this. "Eadu? But what did they do with the _Starbeam_? They couldn't have just left it on an Imperial-occupied planet."

Mon Mothma and Bail looked at each other. "The plan was for James, Lex, and Ellra to drop into Eadu to commandeer an Imperial ship to carry out the rest of the mission to the Yards. After observing what the Imperials were building, they were supposed to leave and meet at a rendezvous point where the rest of the crew would meet them so they could ditch the Imperial ship," Bail explained.

"But Patrick insisted on going with his father to the Yards," Mon Mothma said. "He wasn't going to take no for an answer. So, Lex stayed behind."

Mary shook her head, willing away tears. _Stupid, Patrick, stupid. _But that was just like him. He craved adventure; he was so eager to work for the Rebellion.

"But, of course, the three of them were discovered at the Yards by the Imperials and destroyed," Mon Mothma continued. "But not before transmitting a series of images to the _Starbeam_."

Mary felt her heart leap to her throat.

"We believe they were trying to send more but were destroyed before they could be fully sent. The _Starbeam _was only able to receive three of them." Mon Mothma reached into a small leather satchel and took out three folded pieces of parchment.

Mary's eyes widened. _Actual parchment. _Almost nothing was kept on parchment anymore, not for centuries. It was so rare to see anything in print, though her father prided himself on collecting old texts and tomes on almost every subject imaginable.

"The images are too dangerous to store on any holopad, of course, so I had them printed," Mon Mothma explained, unfolding them.

"Are there any other copies?" Mary asked.

"Only these and another set on the base."

Mary gazed at the images unfolding before her. It was hard to see in the dim light of the pub, but she was able to make out what she was looking at. Except… it almost didn't look like anything at all. "What is that?" she breathed. The object before her looked like a moon… but as if it was hollowed out, just a shell.

"We don't know," Bail said. "But we're trying to figure it out."

"But see that small object on the bottom left?" Mon Mothma pointed out. "That's an Imperial-class Star Destroyer."

Mary gasped. "So, we know it's big."

Her fellow senator nodded seriously. "But we don't know what it is or what it does."

"But if the Empire wants it hidden from view then it must be important. It must be dangerous," Mary said, hating the way her voice shook.

"Whatever it is, it's clearly in the early stages of being built," Bail said. "So we must find what it is and its purpose before it can be finished."

* * *

On the way back to Grantham, Mary's mind was still reeling from the news she had received from Bail and Mon Mothma just two days prior. In those two days, she had hardly gotten any sleep, and though she blamed it on the Empire Day festivities, Mary was pretty sure Charles was starting to see through that lie.

As the blue swirl of hyperspace enveloped her, she couldn't get what she'd seen that night at the bar out of her head. The images of the imposing moon-like structure were practically burned into her memory.

"Mary…" a voice floated in the distance. "Mary?"

She blinked, returning to the present to find Charles giving her a most confused look.

"Are you sure you're alright? You've hardly spoken a word since the senate meeting. And you're usually so quick to voice your disgust when it comes to Empire Day," he said, leaning back against his chair with a small laugh.

Mary appreciated Charles's attempts to humour her, but it all felt wrong. How could she pretend to be feeling normal when her cousins had made a massive discovery before being destroyed by the Empire?

"It's just I haven't been able to take my mind off the new restrictions on relief missions," she lied.

Charles nodded. "I know what you mean. They're sure to tie the whole galaxy in red tape, and you know the Outer Rim planets would suffer because of it."

Mary nodded, and resumed her gaze out of the _Verdant's _view port. She practically let out a breath of relief when they dropped out of hyperspace. Her planet swirling of green, white, and blue drew ever closer, and she finally felt she no longer needed to constantly look over her shoulder.

* * *

_There was no saving dinner, _Violet thought with a hint of mild amusement as her youngest granddaughter's eyes flared with rage. Sybil Crawley was too much of a lady to actually slam her fist down on the dining table, but Violet could tell she wanted to very badly – her fingers were practically white around her silverware.

They hadn't even gotten past their first course before descending into an argument, and all because Robert _had _to ask about Mary's senate meeting with the whole family present instead of waiting for a more private moment when Mary could tell them the true circumstances of Cousin James and Cousin Patrick's deaths. It was the whole reason she had invited herself to dinner, after all. But of course, as soon as Mary was about to delve into deeper detail in the drawing room, Mr. Matthew Crawley and his mother decided it was the most _sensible _time to arrive.

So, here she was, itching to find out what Mary had discovered in the midst of a row that rivaled the Battle of Geonosis.

"How can the they do this!?" Sybil raised her voice, and Violet could feel tendrils of the Force surrounding her, vibrating with such ferocity.

"Sybil–" Robert started, but she was certainly not about to be silenced on the matter.

"Planets have been conducting relief missions for decades without the need for such restrictions. It's cruel to impose them now. The Outer Rim planets already suffer enough without having the supplies they need backlogged by bureaucracy!"

This was becoming too much, Violet realized, and slowly put her hand on the dining table and reached out with the Force to overpower Sybil's emotions. If she had not done so, her wine glass surely would have flown directly into the livery of young William, who did not deserve such treatment.

"Sybil, please," Robert said. He was trying not to raise his voice to match hers. "Now is not the time to discuss such matters."

Sybil scoffed. "You're the one who asked about Mary's senate meeting in the first place."

Robert opened his mouth to speak, but Cousin Isobel cut him off. "You can't argue with that logic."

Violet fought against rolling her eyes. Did she _always _have to encourage division at the dinner table?

"No, I quite agree with Sybil," Mary replied, picking at her roasted potatoes. "And Charles said as much."

"And the Empire cited Cousin James and Cousin Patrick's deaths as the reason for these new restrictions?" Edith asked, her voice almost breaking.

"One of the reasons, yes," Mary replied, clutching her fork a little tighter. "In an effort to stop _similar events _from occurring."

Violet usually never thought this, but for once she wanted Mary to shut up. She was skirting dangerously close to the line that would ruin them all. Had she forgotten Matthew and Isobel were present? And why was Cousin Matthew being so quiet? He never hesitated to insert is opinion on any subject, and as Violet eyed him from across the table, she noticed he was refusing to meet anyone's eye.

"Well I can't put off my mission to Jakku," Sybil declared. "It's less than a week away and the villagers there are desperate for fresh water after a drought that's swept through the planet."

Robert and Cora looked at each other. "Sybil, in light of this, I don't think it's a good time to conduct this mission," he said.

"But Papa, I've been co-ordinating with the village elders for nearly a month! We're one of the only planets that has offered to come to their aid!" Sybil cried.

"Sybil, if the Empire catches you…" Mary started. Violet's heart skipped a beat. Mary didn't even _know _the full consequences of what would happen if Sybil were to be caught by the Empire.

"But I'm not doing anything wrong!" Sybil argued.

Violet felt tendrils of the Force vibrating around them again. _So, this is how we're discovered, _Violet thought. _Because of a row at dinner. _Sybil would lose her temper, show her powers to Cousin Matthew and Cousin Isobel, and they'd all be arrested for treason.

"Sybil, dear, perhaps we should let the subject go for the evening," Cora said assertively, her voice heavy.

Sybil sighed at sat back in her chair in a rather un-ladylike manner.

"Cousin Mary, did the Empire say whether these new restrictions apply retroactively to missions already organized by both the aiding and receiving parties?" Matthew said – his first words since the dinner began.

Again, Violet resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course, when he speaks up it is only to prolong the topic they should put to rest.

Mary thought. "No, I don't believe so."

"Then Cousin Sybil's mission to Jakku shouldn't require these new restrictions. Besides, from what I've heard the Empire rarely patrols the Western Reaches. It would be an entirely different story were you to conduct a mission to Corellia," Matthew replied simply.

Sybil beamed. "There you have it. I need to conduct this mission, and the people of Jakku need it as well. That's that."

* * *

After dinner, Sybil managed to catch Cousin Matthew just as he and her father were entering the drawing room after their round of cigars and brandy.

"I must thank you, for fighting in my corner," she said. "It doesn't happen often in this family."

"Not at all," he replied with a soft smile.

"It's just…" she paused for a moment, making sure to choose her words carefully. She didn't believe Cousin Matthew was an Imperial loyalist. At least she didn't _want _to believe it, but for the sake of her grandmother and parents' sanity, she continued to tread carefully around him. "After Cousin James and Cousin Patrick, I wasn't sure if Mama and Papa would let me go on _any _relief mission."

A beat passed before Cousin Matthew answered. "How long have you been conducting them?"

"For just over a year, now," Sybil replied. "Papa's sister Rosamund did them, and then Mama when she first married Papa, and then I took over when I turned fifteen. Mary got a taste for politics at a young age, and that's all she wanted to do, and Edith's obsessed with flying, so it all fell to me."

"And you didn't mind that?"

"No, of course not! It's our duty to help systems less fortunate than our own." She paused. "Why should they have to suffer when Grantham has so much to offer?"

Cousin Matthew smiled. "Very well said. But I do hope I haven't put you at odds with your sister."

Sybil waved him off. "Don't mind Mary, or my parents for that matter. They're just being protective."

"Still, that doesn't mean their arguments for your safety don't have merit."

Sybil scoffed. "Now you sound just like them. And just when I thought you were on my side."

"Just be careful, is all I mean. God knows your father would kill me should anything happen to you on a mission I argued was alright to conduct," he said rather sheepishly with a soft chuckle.

"_I _did most of the arguing, don't you forget," Sybil said playfully, pursing her lips. "And it's my decision to go. Besides, Papa wouldn't _dare _murder his own heir for any reason, not when he's just gotten settled with you and Cousin Isobel entering the family."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Cousin Matthew muttered, and Sybil's brow furrowed. _What did he mean by that? _He couldn't possibly think her father a particularly violent man, nor could he think he wasn't welcome in this family. Mary and Violet were different stories altogether, but the rest of the family weren't like that. She hoped he knew that, but before Sybil had a chance to express it, Cousin Isobel caught her son and said it was time they head home.

As Sybil watched her cousin leave the darkened halls of Downton Abbey, she felt more and more like she could truly trust him, that he would be on their side should her parents reveal their true allegiance to the Rebellion. However, she caught a glance at her eldest sister and grandmother, who gave her cousins the same scrutinized glare. Sybil swallowed hard, and worried that perhaps her trust in Cousin Matthew was misplaced after all.

* * *

_Finally. _Mary practically let out a cry of relief when Cousin Matthew and Cousin Isobel left the room. She waited five minutes, then gave her grandmother across the room a knowing glance. Violet caught her eye and nodded. With every passing second Mary felt as if she could breathe a little easier.

She excused herself from her conversation with Edith and her mother, and then promptly left the drawing room. Stopping herself from rushing, she crossed the main hall to the library, which was still lit by a few lights. Though it was the room in which Mary felt most at home, she couldn't help glance around cautiously, as if the Empire had implanted listening devices. Mary shook her head. _You're being paranoid, stop it._

A click sounded from across the room, causing Mary to nearly jump out of her own skin. But it was only her grandmother entering and closing the door behind her.

"Goodness, Mary, if I didn't know any better, I would have thought you were up to no good," Violet said with a small smile.

Mary shook her head. "Sorry, Granny, but I've been on edge since my meeting with Bail and Mon Mothma."

"Then let's get right to it." Violet took a seat on a velvet chaise longue and gestured for her to do the same.

Mary nodded. "As it turns out, James and Patrick did indeed carry out a relief mission, but their main objective ordered by the Rebellion was to observe the Empire's activities at the Kuat Drive Yards." She took a breath. "Cousin Patrick wasn't even supposed to go."

Violet's eyes widened to the size of tea saucers. "What do you mean, he wasn't supposed to go?"

"Patrick was supposed to remain on board their original ship while James and a few others commandeered an Imperial one, conducted the mission, and met again at a rendezvous point. But of course, Patrick insisted on joining his father to the Yards."

Violet groaned in frustration. "If that boy weren't dead, I would wring his neck. Didn't it cross his mind he was the heir to your father's title? If he hadn't gone than we wouldn't be in this whole mess."

"I know, Granny," Mary sighed. "But James and Patrick did discover something at the Yards, something big."

"Well, what?"

"That's just it, we don't know _what _it is. No one in the Rebellion has a clue what it is or what its purpose could be. Mon Mothma said the Rebellion ship received a few image transmissions before it was… before it was destroyed. She had them removed from any of the Rebellion's computers, so there are only physical copies. From what I could tell, the Empire's building some sort of moon-looking structure, perhaps a base of operations." Mary took care to keep her voice as low as possible. Though the walls of Downton were thick, she couldn't risk any of this information becoming known among the staff or even her own family members. The fewer people knew, the better.

"And how far along is the construction, would you say?" Violet asked.

"I don't know, Granny, but Bail and Mon Mothma believe it to be in the early stages."

Violet nodded sharply. "Good. That gives the Rebellion time, at least. Whatever it is the Empire's building, they need to find a way to stop it."

"Should we tell Mama and Papa?"

Violet thought for a moment. "No, I don't think so. I think we should wait until the Rebellion knows more. If it was important to Robert and Cora's work they would have told them already."

"But Granny, don't you think we owe it to them? James and Patrick were family, after all. For goodness sake, I was practically engaged to Patrick," Mary said, trying again not to raise her voice, which after her senate meeting was proving rather difficult. She felt as if she should be shouting and shouting at the Empire until her voice was lost and her throat became dry. She felt as if she were the only one in the void of space, shouting at her enemies, only for them to take no notice. Nothing felt right, and the more she thought about the more alone she felt, like that void in space was about to destroy her from the inside out.

"I know, Mary, but it puts them at risk with the Empire. You know how closely our exports are inspected, one mishap and it could all come crashing down. It's a wonder they get anything to the Rebellion in the first place."

This time, Mary nodded. Her grandmother was right, of course she was. Telling her parents now when they knew so little would only invite more danger and secrets, secrets they still needed to keep from Cousin Matthew and Cousin Isobel. A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed hard to stop tears from forming her eyes.

"I just feel so alone, Granny," Mary said, voice breaking. "I know I shouldn't, but I do."

As if sensing the arrival of tears, her grandmother pulled her into a tight hug. "I know, dear. I know how difficult it is to be passed over and to feel alone, believe me. But remember, this is all for the survival of this family… of this system. And the work your parents, the Rebellion, and you yourself are doing is so important. Don't forget that."

Suddenly the library door opened with a soft click, causing Mary to nearly jump out of her skin. It was her father, and she quickly hid her face to hide her red and teary eyes.

"I was just making sure I hadn't missed you leaving, Mama," he said, a slight pause in his voice.

"Oh no, no," she replied, her voice back to its light and jovial tone. "But it's quite late, isn't it?"

"Well, everyone else has already gone up, so I'll say goodnight. I can let Percival know you're ready to be taken home, if you want."

"Yes, that would be most helpful. Thank you, Robert."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight," her grandmother replied.

"Goodnight," Mary said, her voice barely a whisper.

* * *

"I hope my mother and Mary weren't up to anything nefarious this evening," Robert said as he pulled back the heavy duvet on the bed he shared with this wife. Cora was already in her night clothes, resting against the headboard with her holopad. A fire roared just across from them, bringing some much-needed warmth into the drafty room.

Downton Abbey was centuries old, and though the Crawleys tried their best to outfit the estate with all the features of a modern house on Coruscant, central heating was always difficult in a house as big as theirs.

"Why do you say that?" Cora asked, setting down her holopad on the nightstand and turning towards her husband.

"I just found them talking very secretively in the library before I came up," he replied joining Cora in the bed.

"Oh, I thought Violet had already gone home for the evening."

"I thought so too, but she and Mary had escaped to the library."

"You know them," Cora said, a smile crawling onto her face. "Since Mary was a child those two had been practically inseparable."

"Yes, but this seemed different. It looked as if Mary had been crying."

Suddenly Cora sat up a little straighter. "Crying?"

Robert nodded. "I don't know…" he sighed. "Perhaps something had happened during her senate meeting."

Cora bit her bottom lip. "Or it could be about… something else."

"What do you mean?" He asked, but as soon as he saw Cora's expression, he knew instantly. "I don't what to go through this again. Accepting Cousin Matthew as my heir is in the best interest of this family, and that is that. I thought you agreed with me on this."

"I do, of course, I do," Cora said, trying to keep her voice low. "But look at this from Mary's perspective. Her father's two long-time heirs – one being her prospective husband – are murdered, and the next heir is a distant relation and knows nothing of the family. Surely instead, she would be made heir to avoid the dangers that come with integrating a new member into the family."

"But the dangers of upsetting the Empire at a time like this, after they surely now know of James's and Patrick's involvement in the Rebellion, _especially with Sybil_–"

"I know, I know," Cora breathed, a little defeated.

Robert sighed. "If it's not danger from one side it's danger from the other."

"It certainly seems that way," she replied. "And I'd much rather be on the side that doesn't involve the Empire."


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers!
> 
> Thank you for continuing to support this story, and for your lovely comments and kudos! A little announcement: I just published a new story, "Everything You Can Take From Me". It's a story centred around the Star Wars sequel characters set in the Hunger Games universe. If you're interested, please give it a read and let me know what you think. 
> 
> I hope you all are staying safe, washing your hands, wearing masks, and social distancing.
> 
> Enjoy!

Sybil hadn't wanted to admit it, but she had been terribly worried that night when she'd saved Gwen from falling, revealing her closely guarded secret. Thankfully, Gwen didn't seem more nervous than she had been before she found out about Sybil's Force sensitivity. After a week it seemed as if everything returned to normal. Of course, Gwen wasn't with Sybil every moment of the day, and she couldn't help but have nervous moments, knowing her secret was out there in someone else's mind. Gwen however, was nothing if not reassuring; never forgetting to tell her she hadn't told anyone. In fact, she kept reminding her so often Sybil had to tell her she didn't have to.

Now, as she was preparing to board the _Verdant _for the mission to Jakku, she felt a different kind of nervousness. Cousin Matthew said the Empire rarely patrolled the Western Reaches, and his reasoning was sound with the law of it all, but the new restrictions Mary spoke of from her senate meeting still put her in an uneasy mindset.

Still, she knew she couldn't abandon the villagers of Jakku, not when they were expecting her. What kind of person would she be if she abandoned her duty when the Empire tightened their grasp?

_A smart person, _the thought raced through her mind, but vanished just as quick.

Sybil needed to do this, and then worry about the Empire's new restrictions after.

"The cargo is all ready to go, my lady," Captain Branson said, descending the _Verdant's _ramp. The ship was parked on Grantham's main cargo dock, and the supplies and food and water bound for Jakku already checked by the Empire and loaded onto the ship.

No Imperial defectors, no contraband, no weapons. Everything had passed the Empire's inspection, and Sybil's heart eased a little. As a breeze whipped loose tendrils of her hair, she gazed beside her at the _Verdant's _captain. He didn't let her nervousness affect him, and he wore the same vacant expression he always did in public. But Sybil could detect a hint of a smile creeping onto his lips. He never admitted it, but she knew Branson preferred flying relief missions to any other aspect of his job. He liked knowing he was doing a bit of good in the galaxy.

And it was the only time they could be alone.

"Very good, Captain," Sybil said, ascending the _Verdant_'s ramp with him closely following.

The ship's engines powered on with a comforting rumble, and soon they were off the dock and flying away from the planet's surface.

Sybil felt a slight jolt as the ship jumped to lightspeed. She settled herself in her private chambers and tried to focus on the hypnotic blue swirl outside the room's viewport. When that did little to calm her nerves, she closed her eyes, thinking of her grandmother's teachings. On the evening when Mary had come back from Coruscant, Sybil knew she had been on the verge of losing control of her powers. As she had argued against the Empire's new restrictions on relief missions, she had felt her silverware shaking, her wine glass about to fly off the table. Her grandmother must have felt it as well, because in the corner of her eye she noticed her putting a hand flat against the table, and suddenly her feelings calmed, her voice evened. Violet's presence in the Force had been something wonderous, something she hoped to achieve.

As she sat in her chambers, eyes closed, she reached out through the Force in an attempt to feel her grandmother, to feel her presence. She wondered if Violet was doing the same.

After a few frustrating minutes of feeling only the vast emptiness of space, it came to her. Very faintly, she could feel her grandmother through the Force. It felt the same as it had that night during dinner. It felt comforting, like being wrapped in her arms, and she could smell the scent of Violet's house – black tea spiced with vanilla and lavender.

_I'm so nervous, Granny, _Sybil thought, straining a little harder to speak to her grandmother.

It was quiet for a moment. Sybil worried she wasn't trying hard enough, but soon Violet's answer came.

_Trust in the Force. It shall guide you and keep you safe._

Sybil smiled as her eyes fluttered open and the connection disappeared like smoke in the air. Outside the viewport, the blue swirl of hyperspace still surrounded the ship. Suddenly, she didn't need to use it to keep her thoughts from wandering. She had everything she needed in the Force.

* * *

Of all the ships Tom Branson had flown in his life, the _Verdant _was easily the best. It was certainly better than those dingy old cargo freighters from the Ring of Kafrene, anyway.

It still amazed him knowing how clean a spacecraft could look. The ships he flew a lifetime ago hadn't known the definition of the word "clean", and he could still smell the rust and mildew caked up their walls.

The _Verdant _had no such issues. Its walls were so shiny Tom could see his reflection in them wherever he went. The crews were much more talkative as well, and the droids friendlier. The Crawleys might not employ a staff of droids, but they sure had the best pick of the lot when it came to astro droids.

As if reading his thoughts, R3-A2 let out a series of confident-sounding beeps.

Tom smiled at the little droid. "Sounds good, Aytoo. Why don't you handle the autopilot for a little while? Let me know if an asteroid gets in our path."

This time a series of nervous whistles came from the droid.

"I'm kidding," Tom laughed as he left the ship's bridge and straightened his uniform. That was perhaps the only thing that bothered him about working for the Crawleys. He would much rather pilot in his well-worn flight jacket with his favourite blaster strapped to his leg, but Grantham customs required him to wear the forest-green flight uniform with a small standard-issue blaster pistol. The uniform reminded him too much of the olive-green uniforms of the Imperial Navy, which made him almost laugh because he was almost sure the Crawleys hated the Empire – at least, he was sure Lady Sybil did.

He didn't spend enough time with the family to be privy to their political affiliations like Thomas or William. In fact, he didn't even sleep in the main estate with the rest of the staff – instead he had his own set of small rooms above the estate's hangar bay. There he had the only vestiges left from his previous life – his brother's set of mechanic's tools, his flight jacket and blaster, and a set of sabaac cards. He had left almost everything behind on Kafrene, but as he walked the quiet halls of the _Verdant, _he reminded himself to not regret leaving that life.

Tom had steady employment – good employment, and after years of solitude had welcome company.

He knocked on Lady's Sybil's door, suddenly finding himself nervous. His stomach always managed to become riddled with butterflies every time she was near, despite the fact that they had conducted over fifty relief missions together, most of the time with only a skeleton crew of other pilots and technicians. Something about her determination and spirit was like nothing he'd ever seen on Kafrene, which was so bogged down by Imperial rule it crushed the spirits of anyone who lived there. Even the rest of the Crawley sisters were like that – Lady Mary with her politics and Lady Edith with her flying. She was naturally talented in a way that made him want to become a better pilot.

"_Come in,_" came Sybil's soft voice from the behind the door.

With the press of a button, Sybil's door opened with a hydraulic hiss and she turned from the viewport towards him.

Strands of her hair escaped her braid, and she had changed from her light day dress into clothing more suited to a desert – light linen trousers, weatherproof boots, a muslin top, and a scarf looped around her neck.

"We should be at Jakku momentarily, my lady," he said, leaning against the door's opening. Not very captain-like, but he knew Lady Sybil didn't mind.

"Thank you, Tom," she said before gazing back out the viewport. "I imagine this might be the last relief mission we conduct in a while."

Tom grimaced. "The Empire's new restrictions, right?"

Sybil turned back to him, blinking in semi-astonishment.

The captain laughed. "We get the holonews down in the servants' hall, too, my lady."

"Right, of course," she said, blushing. "That was silly."

Tom stood from the doorway and entered her room fully. Something was bothering her, he could tell. Usually she was much more resolute on missions like this, and usually she didn't let the Empire get her down.

"Hey, it might take a little longer for your missions to get approved, but they can't stop them altogether," he said, trying to sound reassuring.

"It's not just that," Sybil started. "It's… when Mary came back from her Senate meeting, she said the new restrictions came about because of Cousin James and Cousin Patrick."

Tom breathed, feeling a pang in his heart. He hadn't known the Crawley heirs well – they had mainly kept to themselves whenever they had been staying at the estate and they had never once required his piloting services. James and Patrick Crawley had been a mystery to Tom, only spoken about from the lips of the footmen coming back to the servants' hall with upstairs gossip, or the occasional word from Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes. Still, the Empire using their deaths as an excuse to further their own tyrannical agenda – as if they hadn't already clamped down on Grantham enough already. Tom felt his expression darken in anger but forced himself to relax.

He sat down across from Sybil at the small table by the view port and tentatively reached across to hold her hand. It was a small gesture of comfort and solace, but something they could only do in the privacy of a place like this. "This work you're doing is important, Sybil," he said, almost whispering. "More important than the Empire could ever understand."

Sybil smiled. "The work _we're _doing, you mean. If I could pilot a ship like you or Edith I'd be doing these almost every day."

"I don't doubt it," Tom said, smiling.

Sybil's confidence seemed to return so after, and all too quickly a slew of beeps and whistles came over his comm.

"Aytoo says we're coming up on Jakku," Tom said.

Sybil followed him to the bridge as the ship dropped out of lightspeed and the sandy orb that was Jakku rushed up to meet them.

Along with two Imperial Star Destroyers.

* * *

Sybil's heart froze.

She couldn't move.

Cousin Matthew had said the Empire rarely patrolled the Western Reaches. So why was there a blockade right in front of them?

"_Dammit," _Tom hissed beside her, scrambling over the ship's console. R3-A2 let out a series of nervous beeps.

"Yeah, Yeah, I know!" He shouted at the droid as he maneuvered the ship away from the nose of the closest Star Destroyer.

"What are they doing here?" Sybil asked, her voice pitching. _What could Jakku have that the Empire could possibly want? Besides sand._

"It's the Empire," Tom said through his teeth, hands clutching the ship's controls. "They don't need a reason to be here." The disgust in his voice was palpable as they ship swerved sharply to the right. Without thinking, Sybil reached out with the Force to steady herself and then grabbed the back of Tom's seat. After regaining her balance, she reminded herself not to do that again. Not with the Empire so close.

"You can't possibly outrun them," Sybil said as more of the _Verdant's _crew filled into the bridge.

"I'm not trying to, my lady. I just want to get out of range of their guns, otherwise this whole trip would have been for nothing."

Sybil swallowed nervously. She couldn't let it be for nothing, she couldn't. She gazed down at the planet's surface. People down there were depending on them, and she couldn't let them down. She couldn't let the Empire get in her way.

"Aytoo, put the ship's shields up," Captain Branson called to the droid.

"They surely won't let us descend when they notice our shields are up," Sybil said.

"Yes, but it might get them to ask questions first and shoot later," he replied.

"Captain, there's an incoming transmission," one of the petty officers said from her station. Sybil's heart skipped a beat, but at least Tom had been right.

As if reading her mind, the captain gave her a knowing smirk. "Let it through," he said.

"_This is the Imperial Star Destroyer _Devastator_,"_ the voice over the commlink said.

If it were possible, Sybil's heart dropped all the way down to her feat. The air seemed have been sucked out of the bridge, leaving her feeling lightheaded. Her knuckles were white against the back of the captain's seat, and her legs felt as if they were about to go out from under her.

_I'm going to faint, _she thought.

_No, you can't faint, you can't._

Sybil forced herself to gaze at the Star Destroyer facing them, its massive shadow engulfing the _Verdant _in darkness. The _Devastator _was the flagship of Darth Vader – the Emperor's right hand. The galaxy was flooded with rumours about him – that he could kill someone with only a look, that his body was made from the parts of old Republic cruisers, that he had a collection of hundreds of lightsabers, one from each Jedi he had killed.

"_Your cruiser has not been granted permission to enter this quadrant. Identify yourselves and state your business,"_ the voice continued.

Sybil gazed at Tom, who shared her nervous look.

The captain reached to the transmission button and spoke evenly. "This is Captain Tom Branson of the cruiser _Verdant_. I am accompanied by a small crew and Lady Sybil Crawley, daughter of the Earl of Grantham. We come representing Grantham on a relief mission to the people of Jakku."

Sybil hoped that was enough.

_Trust in the Force, _her grandmother's words floated through her head. _Trust in the Force… the Force… the Force…_

_"Lower your shields and prepare to be boarded," _the voice replied. _"Failure to comply will result in your destruction."_

Sybil's heart sank even lower. The Force surely wasn't helping her at the moment.

Suddenly, she thought of Cousin James and Patrick, and how they must have felt during their voyage. She didn't know where they had gone or what their mission was, but she couldn't help but imagine their cruiser being pulled onto a Star Destroyer – perhaps this very one – and awaiting their fate. Did the same fate await her and Tom and the rest of the crew?

She shook her head with a jolt. She couldn't allow herself to think like that.

_Trust in the Force it will guide you and keep you safe._

Beside her, Tom was practically fuming in his seat. She reached out and laid her hand on his shoulder. "Drop the shields," she said. "What choice do we have?"

"The choice to _fight back, _to resist," he replied, unable to meet her gaze.

"Look out in front of you, Tom," she replied, her voice even. _Trust in the Force. _"Our cruiser doesn't stand a chance against two Imperial Star Destroyers. We're not abandoning the people who need us." She looked up now at the rest of the small crew surrounding them. They all looked how she felt, worried and unsure. "We must everything we can to get our cargo to the villagers."

After dropping the _Verdant's _shields, it didn't take long for the _Devastator _to pull it in to its belly. A series of rumbles startled Sybil, and she and Tom exited the bridge and entered the hallway that led to the entrance of the ship.

She could feel sweat starting to form on her forehead, and then a hand squeezing hers. Tom's hand. She looked over at the captain, and he gave her a reassuring smile. For a moment, Sybil closed her eyes, remembering her grandmother. She had said that the Force flows through all beings, even those that aren't Force-sensitive. Sybil reached out with a few tendrils of the Force, letting it surround Tom. Though he didn't know it, she felt his presence in the force – comforting like her grandmother, yet with him she could smell ship fuel, oil, and coffee.

With a jolt, the _Verdant's _doors opened and a squadron of Stormtroopers flooded the hall, guns raised. A few uniformed officers followed them.

Tom squeezed her hand a little tighter and with his free one removed his blaster from its holster, set it on the ship's floor and kicked it towards the Stormtroopers. None of them spoke, and instead moved aside to line the hallway.

A dark figure then entered the from the steam into the ship's hall.

Darth Vader.

_Blast, _if she made it out of this, she would never hear the end of it from her parents. Or Mary.

He stopped right before her and Tom, and from her height she had to crane her neck to fully look him up and down. Every single inch of him was black – from his helmet to his boots. As she peered into his dark eyes, she couldn't help but wonder if there was any human part of him at all.

Sybil's heart was nearly pounding out of her chest and she pushed all thoughts of the Force deep down. She could see the glint of the dark lord's lightsaber from underneath his cape and her heart's pace quickened.

The ominous figure before her fought with the weapon of the Jedi, and yet he was not.

"Captain Tom Branson and Lady Sybil Crawley?" The voice rumbled from beneath the mask, shaking the entire ship.

Sybil nodded stiffly.

"Where is your cargo and flight manifest?"

She could see her own reflection in Vader's eyes. She knew how scared she looked. "Our cargo hold is at the stern of the ship, and the manifest is on the bridge. Captain Branson can show them to you."

Vader's gaze shifted to his officers and with a single small gesture he motioned for them to step forward. He turned back to her and Tom. "Show them, Captain," he said.

Sybil felt Tom hesitate. He was still holding her hand. She gave him a reassuring nod, and he was down the ship's hall, flanked by two Imperial officers.

Vader stayed before her, continuing to look her up and down. "I'm sure you know, Lady Sybil, that all relief missions are to be strictly monitored by the Empire."

"Yes–"

"Then why is your mission not on any Imperial ledger?"

_Breathe. Just breathe. _"This mission was planned weeks ago. There was simply no time–"

"if I recall correctly," Vader interrupted. "Your cousins suffered the consequences of such an action."

Heat rose in her cheeks, and Sybil's fists curled into balls.

"Perhaps you should learn from their mistakes."

Sybil pushed her feelings way down, so far down to hide herself from Vader, but…

She could feel something, some faint tendrils in the Force. But they weren't warm and comforting like those from her grandmother or Tom. They were cold, dark.

Alone. Sybil had never felt so alone.

Those tendrils were coming from Vader, she realized. _He _was reaching out with the Force.

_No, no, no…_

Sybil forced her thoughts down as much as she could, but Vader's stare would not relent. The dark, the cold, it was surrounding her, suffocating her, but also pulling her, enticing her. She resisted, new beads of sweat forming on her brow.

Footsteps approaching, and those feelings were gone. Tom and the officers came back, one of them handing Vader the datapad containing the flight manifest.

"The cargo is clean, sir," he said. "It only contained rations, drinking water, and water purifiers."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Vader rumbled, practically shoving the datapad into Tom's hands. "Allow the _Verdant _to continue its descent. However, I want an Imperial escort for this ship to the planet's surface and back to Grantham."

That was hardly necessary, but Sybil didn't raise her voice to argue.

"And the _Devastator _shall be confiscating a quarter of your cargo."

"Whatever for?" Sybil cried.

At the same time, Tom said "that is not acceptable."

Vader didn't move. "Compensation for the Empire. Do not let this happen again, or Grantham will no longer be conducting relief missions."

Sybil held her glare but knew better than to challenge him. Her heart resumed its pounding.

After a few more agonizing seconds, Vader and his officers left the _Verdant_, with instructions for his Stormtroopers to move the cargo onto the _Devastator._

Sybil let out a soft breath when Darth Vader finally disappeared out of the ship's door and back onto his own, the darkness and cold she had been feeling escaping with him. She must have still looked distressed, because she felt Tom's hand on her shoulder, and he bent down to meet her eye.

"Are you alright, my lady?" He asked. His voice trembled a little.

Tearing her gaze away from the retreating figures, she faced her captain. Ship fuel. Oil. Coffee. She felt his presence again, replacing what had been the suffocating presence belonging to Vader.

Still, her heart trembled at his power. His darkness had called to her – what did that mean? Had sensed her own Force-sensitivity?

Keeping her secret safe with Gwen wouldn't matter if the Dark Lord himself now knew it. The thought made her nauseous.

"I'm alright," she lied.

Whatever had happened didn't matter. All that mattered was getting what was left of their cargo to the villagers on Jakku.

She could deal with matters of the Force later.

* * *

As promised, an Imperial escort of three TIE fighters led the _Verdant _back through hyperspace to Grantham.

Sybil had spent the whole time trying in vain to calm herself by reaching out to the Force, but her mind was occupied by terrified thoughts of the TIEs suddenly turning their guns on them and shooting the cruiser into space dust.

She stayed on the ship's bridge, surrounded by those she knew and when Grantham's surface rushed into view she finally regained her composure.

"See, Aytoo?" Tom said with a relieve smile down at the atromech. "I told you they were just following us. Their guns weren't even in attack position."

"Don't start that until we reach the hangar bay," Sybil said. "We haven't landed on Grantham yet."

As much as she worried, the _Verdant's _landing was smooth and uneventful. Their escort broke off soon after the cruiser passed Grantham's atmosphere, and she prayed that no one had seen the TIEs breakaway and return back up through the sky.

Those hopes were quickly dashed, however, as when she descended the ramp down from the ship and Mary was there waiting for her.

"_What happened?_" She asked, arms firmly crossed on her chest. Mary's expression was unreadable, a mix between worry, furiousness, and relief.

Sybil gazed at the rest of the crew descending the ship. She knew she could count on their discretion to not say anything about what had transpired, and Tom who would be fiddling with the ship with Aytoo for hours would surely not breathe a word of their Imperial encounter, but it was clear Mary had seen the TIEs. She couldn't lie to her sister about this, she would see right through her.

She waited until the hanger was empty save for the soft beeps and whirs of the atro droids.

"We had a bit of… trouble at Jakku," Sybil confessed.

"_Imperial _trouble?"

Sybil nodded. "We were boarded and inspected. They took some of our cargo, and they let us go on our way." No need to mention Darth Vader.

"With an Imperial escort," Mary said.

"With an Imperial escort," Sybil confirmed. "But please, you can't tell Mama or Papa or anyone! Please, Mary!"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"They'll never let me go on another mission again," Sybil said. She could only imagine how her parents would react if they found out the ship was boarded by the Empire. Or that _Darth Vader _himself had led the inspection. They'd never let her leave the planet's surface again. "And the galaxy depends on resources like ours."

Mary grimaced. "Cousin Matthew said it himself the Empire rarely patrols the Western Reaches." She had that look on her face when she was about to get into an argument with someone. "We're going to have words, him and me."

Sybil breathed heavily. "Don't blame Cousin Matthew, he was supporting me. I argued to go despite the danger."

"Yes, but do you realize what this looks like? He practically sent you into danger himself." Mary was seething now.

"He did no such thing," Sybil argued.

"What did I tell you, Sybil? We can't trust strangers. Especially Cousin Matthew," Mary practically spat the words. Then she let out a breath, her expression relaxed. "For the sake of both Mama and Papa's hearts, I shall keep this _misadventure _between the both of us."

Sybil breathed out of relief.

Mary continued. "But promise me to not act on any advice given by Cousin Matthew, not until we know where his true allegiance lies."

She nodded, unable to get any words out. She wanted to trust Cousin Matthew, of course, but if it meant Mary would not share the details of her relief mission with the rest of the family, she would head her sister's advice.

Mary reached out and took Sybil by the hand, rather unexpectedly, and squeezed. It was one of those sisterly affections she rarely saw in Mary. Senator Mary Crawley, who was so political and straightforward and saw the galaxy in black-and-white. For a small moment, she looked almost vulnerable. Her eyes with shiny with tears, her shoulders were heavy, like she was bearing the weight of Grantham itself on them. "We must not risk the safety of this family or the Alliance again."

* * *

There were a lot of things Abram Kel had seen that he wasn't supposed to. Being an aide to the Governor of Grantham wasn't exactly a high-paying job after all, and Abram wanted to leave.

It earned him enough credits to live a comfortable life on Grantham, there was no denying that – but hiring his own ship off this big, beautiful, and entirely frustrating planet would cost him not only an even heftier amount of credits, but also more time than he could spare. And not to mention he needed a way past the Imperial officials who rigorously checked anything and everything that left the surface.

Thomas had said that evening at the gala that he would be foolish to try to escape the clutches of the Empire. He said it as if the Empire owned him, as if he was indentured to them. In a way, Abram supposed the footman was right. He was terribly smart about these sorts of things. But it wasn't as if Abram had chosen this career path himself – he had his father to thank for that. _Bastard._

He gazed up through the massive floor-to-ceiling window from his small bureau in the large office room in the governor's mansion. It was dark, the rest of the staff had retired to the officers' quarters and the only light was provided by a small reading lamp and the three moons high up in the sky. Off in the distance, the Crawleys' sprawling estate gleamed. Most of its lights were off, but it still sparkled in the moonlight. It almost reminded him of his own family's home on Coruscant, though the Crawley estate was about three times the size of that of his family's and centuries older.

_Where was his father now? _Abram wondered as he gazed into space past the three moons. It had been years since he'd talked to him. Probably gambling all of his money at the tables on Canto Bight while his brothers ran the business for him. He suddenly felt an urge to message his brothers on his holopad. Perhaps if he was lucky, they could find a way for him to come home. He would have to convince Thomas to come with him, but with enough persuading the footman might actually agree. Abram shook his head, and the thought vanished. He didn't need this family – they were the ones who had all but sold him to the Empire in hopes of gaining influence with its high command. And where had that got them? He was a minor aide to a governor of minor influence. Not exactly the great statesman they were hoping for.

And now Abram was stuck.

He turned back to the bits of information he had gathered from Governor Callen's latest transmissions. A shipment of weapons here, a cruiser full of hyperfuel there. This sort of information sold for more credits than he earned assisting Callen – and Abram would soon have enough to buy his way off of Grantham and establish himself far from both his family and the Empire's reach. He just had to convince Thomas to join him.

But Thomas Barrow was the tricky sort. Stubborn and determined. Determined to become the big butler on that estate, and Abram was afraid even _he _wouldn't be able to convince him otherwise.

Abram shook his thoughts and cleared his mind. The light from Governor Callen's office was still on, and his shadow moved from behind the door. He knew the governor would soon turn in for the night, so Abram quickly transcribed the last few of the transmissions on his own datapad and shoved it down the inside pocket of his uniform's jacket. He didn't want to be in this office longer than was necessary, especially with Governor Callen in the mood that he was. He was so irritable as of late, perhaps a consequence of Grand Moff Tarkin breathing down his back. It seemed as if every day the office received one of two encrypted transmissions from the man – the sort that we so high above Abram's pay grade he would need someone with talents beyond his own abilities to decode. Whatever it was, it must be important to the Empire.

It was times like this he wished he had spent more time paying attention to his instructors during his time at the Imperial Academy. If he had, he might have been able to decode Tarkin's messages and then he'd be he able to buyhis _own_ ship and escape. He'd be able to buy his own _fleet_. But those transmissions continued to come in and Abram continued to send them directly to Callen's console without ever knowing what they contained.

As Abram started packing up his belongings and turned off his desk lamp, a bright red light on his console started flashing.

His brow furrowed.

An incoming transmission – this late at night? It was coming from a Star Destroyer, Abram could tell that much just by looking at the transmission's code on the console, and they all operated on Coruscant's standard time which was… still late at night.

Abram peered closer at the transmission's code. His eye widened to the size of Grantham's moons. The code belonged to the _Devastator._

Hands flying over the console, Abram pressed the comm that connected to Callen's office.

"_What is it, Kel?_" Governor Callen's voice came over the comm.

"A transmission for you, sir," Abram said. "From the _Devastator_."

"_Yes, alright_," the governor said. All was quiet again.

Abram thought well to leave it at that and exit the office, but the sound of a mechanical breathing caught his ear. He turned toward Callen's office and with quiet steps tentatively approached its door. It was hard given that his boots tended to squeak on the marble floor, but the sound of the mechanical breathing grew loud enough to cover the sound.

"_Lord Vader, this is most unexpected,_" Callen's voice drifted from behind the door.

Abram suddenly shivered. He had never seen the man – _thing _– before, but he'd heard plenty enough during his time at the Academy.

"_Governor, are you aware of a relief mission conducted earlier today from Grantham to Jakku?" _Darth Vader's voice rumbled against the door, deep and mechanical.

"_Yes, my Lord, it was conducted by Lady–"_

_"I know who conducted the mission, because I boarded and had their ship searched myself," _Vader fumed. A sudden chill filled the office, and Abram could no longer hear the governor. The only sound coming from the room before him was a frightened gagging sound. Was he choking? Should he rush in to help?

No, that would be beyond foolish. This was obviously something of Lord Vader's doing, and Abram would accomplish nothing by rushing in besides giving away that he had be eavesdropping. He knew where that would let lead him – in front of a firing squad, no doubt. Abram swallowed and pressed his ear a little closer to the door.

"_I need not remind you, Governor," _Vader continued, "_that any and all relief missions are now to be restricted. You would do well to remind the Crawleys of this. We don't need another incident like at the Yards."_

No sound came from the governor.

_"Any travel off-planet by the Crawleys must be reported back to Tarkin," _Vader said.

A loud gasp suddenly came from behind the door, making Abram jump out of his skin. His heart pounded so loud he worried those beyond the door would be able to hear it.

The governor was coughing, he realized, gulping in air greedily. "_Yes, my Lord,_" he rasped.

"_And keep a watchful eye on Lady Sybil Crawley. She could be of interest to me… personally."_


End file.
